


Demons

by PubuMalik_love_ZaynMalik_FOREVER



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Zayn, Businessman Liam Payne, F/M, Famous Liam, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Innocent Zayn, M/M, Making Love, Older Liam, Photographer Liam, Pining, Rich Liam, Rough Sex, Slow Build, Top Liam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-03-28 04:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PubuMalik_love_ZaynMalik_FOREVER/pseuds/PubuMalik_love_ZaynMalik_FOREVER
Summary: “I’m not available.” Zayn blurted out.“You’re married?”“No.”“Engaged?”“No.”“Living with someone?”Zayn shook head.Liam was quite for a seconds, staring at Zayn as if Zayn was a puzzle that he wanted to solve. “I’ll see you later,” he said eventually. “And in the meantime… I’m going to figure out how to get a ‘yes’ out of you.”OrZayn is a wedding planner who's coordinating his first biggest wedding with his sister Sophia as he happened to meet handsome rich Liam payne on the wedding day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I'm writing/posting a fan fiction. Since this is technically rewriting, extracted from this amazing book by Lisa Kleypas named "Brown Eyed girl", meaning basically i exchange main characters to Liam and Zayn because they were all i could think about while i'm reading the book. I DID NOT write this piece, idea WASN'T MINE i'm just rewriting the original work just so i can be happy. I may have add some intimate ziam moments and you will probably recognize it. :( i hope there won't be any comments on plagiarism, since i've been very clear about this story is NOT mine. Okay so now i think that you've got the idea that the story isn't mine, i'll leave you to read!!!  
> see you again at end notes :)

Chapter 1

As an experienced wedding planner, Zayn was prepared for any nearly every kind of emergency that might occur on the big day.  
Except scorpions. That was a new one.  
The distinctive moment gave it away, a sinister forward-and-black scuttle across the tiles of the pool patio. In Zayn’s opinion, there wasn’t a more evil-looking creature in existence than a scorpion. Usually the venom wouldn’t kill you, but for the first couple of minutes after you’d been stung, you might wish it had.  
The first rule dealing with emergencies was; don’t panic. But as the scorpion skittered toward Zayn with it’s grasping claws and upward-curved tail, he forgot all about rule number one and let out a shriek. Frantically he rummaged through his bag, a tote so heavy that whenever he set it on the passenger seat, the car would signal him to buckle it in. Zayn’s hand fumbled past tissues, pes, bandages, hair products, deodorant, tweezers, a sewing kit, glue, headphones, cough drops, a chocolate bar, over-the-counter medications, scissors, a file, bundle or two of white sheets, a brush, a novel, earring backs, rubber bands, stain remover, a lint role, bobby pins, a razor, double-sided taper and cotton swabs.  
The heaviest object Zayn could find was a glue pen, which he threw at the scorpion. The glue gun bounced harmlessly on the tile, while the scorpion bristled to defend its territory. Pulling out a can of hair spray, he ventured forward with a cautious determination.  
“That’s not going to work,” Zayn heard someone say in a law, amused voice.“Unless you’re trying to give it some more volume and shine.”  
Startled, Zayn looked up as a stranger moved past him, a tall, brown-haired with a little combination of blond man dressed in jeans, boots and a T-shirt that has been washed near annihilation.  
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.  
Zayn retreated a couple of steps, shoving the can back in to his bag.  
“I… I thought hair spray might suffocate him,” Zayn said, offended.  
“Nope. A scorpion can hold it’s breath up to a week.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes Sir.” He crushed the scorpion beneath his foot, finishing with an extra grind of his heel. There was nothing a Texan killed more thoroughly than a scorpion or lit cigarette. After kicking the exoskeleton in to the mulch of a nearby flower bed, he turned to give Zayn a long, considering glance. The purely male assessment jolted Zayn heartbeat in to a new frenzy. He found himself staring in to eyes, color of warm brown that could send cool electric through his spine. He was a striking man, his features bold, the jaw sturdy with an adorable nose. The stubble on his face looked heavy enough to sand paint off car. He was big boned with a broad shoulder and lean, the muscles of his arms and chest as defined as cut stone beneath the worn layer of his T-shirt. A disreputable-looking man maybe a little dangerous.  
The kind of man who made you forget to breath.  
His boots and the raggedy hems of jeans were skimmed with mud that was already drying to powder. He must have been walking near the creek that cut through the Stardust Ranch’s four thousand acres.Dressed like that, he couldn’t possibly have been one of the wedding guest, most of whom possessed unimaginable fortunes.  
As his gaze swept over to Zayn, he knew what the stranger was seeing; a lean figured man in his early twenties, with raven hair and big-framed glasses. His cloths were comfortable, loose, and plain. He was wearing gray joggers which pool around his ankles with huge comfy sweater which hangs loosely on the shoulders and sleeves past the fingers. If the look was off-putting to men- and it usually was- so much the better. Zayn had no interest attracting anyone. Thank you very much.  
“Scorpions aren’t supposed to come out in the daylight,” Zayn said unsteadily.  
“We had an early thaw and a dry spring. They’re looking for moisture. Swimming pool’s going to draw ‘em out.” He had a lazy, easy way of talking, as if every word had been simmered for hours over a flame.  
Breaking their shared gaze, the stranger bent to retrieve the glue gun. As he handed it to Zayn, their fingers touched briefly, and Zayn felt a little jab of response beneath his lower ribs. Zayn caught his scent, white soap and dust and sweet wild grass with the mix of faint cigarette smell.  
“You’d best change out of those,” he advised, glancing at Zayn’s open toad flat sandals.” You got boots? Running shoes?”  
“I’m afraid not.” Zayn said. “I’ll take my chances.” Zayn noticed the camera he had set on the patio tables, a Nikon with a pro-level lens, the metal barrel edged with red. “You’re a professional photographer?” Zayn asked.  
“Yes Sir.”  
He had to be of the of the second-shooters hired by George Gantz, the wedding photographer. Zayn extended his hand.  
“I’m Zayn Malik,” he said in a friendly but businesslike tone. “The Wedding coordinator.”  
He grips Zayn’s hand, the clasp warm and firm. Zayn felt a little shock of pleasure at the contact.  
“Liam Payne.” His gaze continued to hold Zayn’s, and for some reason he prolonged the grip a couple of seconds longer than necessary. Unaccountable warmth swept over Zayn’s face in swift tide. Zayn was relieved when Liam finally let go.  
“Did George give you copies of the timeline and shot list?” Zayn asked, trying to sound professional.  
The question earned a blank look.  
“Don’t worry,” Zayn said, “We’ve got extra copies. Go to the main house and ask for my assistance, Steven. He’s probably in the kitchen with the caters.” Then he fished his bag for a business card.  
“If you have any problems, here’s my phone number.”  
Liam took the card. “Thanks. But I’m not actually— “  
“The guests will be seated at six thirty.” Zayn finished briskly. “The ceremony will begin at and finish with the dove release at seven thirty. And we’ll want some shots of the bride and groom before the sunset, which happens at seven forty-one.”  
“Did you schedule that too?” Mocking amusement glinted in his eyes.  
Zayn shot him warning glance.  
“You should probably spruce up before the guests are up and out this morning.” Zayn reached into his bag for a disposable razor. “Here, take this. Ask Steven where there’s a place you can shave, and— “  
“Slow down, honey. I have my own razor.” He smiled slightly. “Do you always talk so fast?”  
Zayn frowned, tucking the razor back in to his bag. “I have to get to work. I suggest you do the same.”  
“I don’t work for George. I’m commercial and freelance. No weddings.”  
“Then why are you here for?” Zayn asked, with an inaudible wave of his tone.  
` “I’m guest. Friend of the groom’s.”  
Stunned, Zayn stared at him with wide eyes. The creepy-crawly heat of embarrassment covered Zayn from head to toe. “I’m sorry,” Zayn managed to say. “When I saw your camera, I assumed...”  
“No harm done.”  
There was nothing Zayn hated more than looking foolish, NOTHING. The appearance of competence was essential in building a client base… especially the upper-class clientele Zayn was aiming for. But now on the day of the biggest, most expensive wedding in Zayn’s studio and he had ever orchestrated, this man was going to tell his wealthy friends about how he had mistaken for the hired help. There would be snickers behind his back. Snide jokes. Contempt.  
Wanting to as much as distance as possible between the two, Zayn muttered,  
“If you’ll excuse me…” Zayn turned and walked away as fast as he could without breaking in to a run.  
“Hey.” Zayn heard Liam say, caching up to Zayn in a few long strides. He had grabbed the cameras and slung it on a strap over his shoulder.“Hold on. No need to be skittish.”  
“I’m not skittish” Zayn said defensively, hurrying toward a flagstone-floored pavilion with a wooden roof. “I’m busy.  
He matched to Zayn’s pace easily. “Wait a minute. Let’s start over.”  
“Mr. Payne--,” Zayn began and stopped dead in his tracks as he realized exactly who he was.“God,” Zayn said sickly, closing his eyes for a moment,  
“You’re the one of those Paynes, aren’t you?”  
Liam came around to face him, his gaze quizzical. “Depends on what you mean by ‘those.’”  
“Oil money, private planes, yachts, mansions. Those.” Zayn replied rolling his eyes at ‘those’.  
“I don’t have a mansion. I have fixer upper in the sixth ward.”  
“You’re still one of them,” Zayn insisted. Your father is Churchill Payne, isn’t he?”  
A shadow crossed his handsome expressioned face. “Was.”  
Too late, Zayn remembered that approximately six months earlier, the Payne family patriarch had passed away from the sudden cardiac arrest. The media had covered his funeral extensively, describing his life accomplishment in detail. Churchill had made his vast fortune with venture and growth capital investing, most of it related to energy. He’d been highly in the eighties and nineties, a frequent guest in TV business and financial shows. He-and his heirs- were the equivalent of Texas royalty.  
“I’m… sorry for your loss,” Zayn said awkwardly.  
“Thanks”  
A wary silence ensued. Zayn could feel his gaze moving over him, as tangible as the heat of sunlight.  
“Look, Mr. Payne— “  
“Liam”  
“Leeyum,” Zayn repeated. “I’m more than a little preoccupied. This wedding is a complicated production. At the moment I’m managing the setup of the ceremony site, the decoration of an eight-thousand-square-foot reception tent, a formal dinner and dance with a live orchestra for four hundred guests, and a late night after-party. So I apologize for the misunderstanding, but—  
“No need to apologize,” Liam said gently. “I should have spoken up sooner, but it’s hard to get a word in edgewise with you.” Amusement played at the corner of his mouth. “Which means either I’m going to have speed up, or you’re going to have slow down.”  
Even as tense as Zayn was, he was tempted to smile back.  
“There’s no need for the Payne name to make you feel uncomfortable,” he continued. “Believe me, no one who knows my family is impressed by us the least.” He studied Zayn for a moment.  
“Where are you headed now?”  
“The pavilion,” Zayn said, nodding to the covered wooden structure beyond the pool.  
“Let me walk you there,” At Zayn’s hesitation he added “In case you run across another scorpion. Or some other varmint. Tarantulas, Lizards… I’ll clear a path for you.”  
Wryly, Zayn reflected that the man could probably charm the rattle off a snake. “It’s not that bad out here,” Zayn said.  
“You need me.” He said certainly.  
Together both Zayn and Liam walked to the ceremony site, crossing beneath a motte of live oak on the way. The white silk reception tent in the distance was poised on a tract of emerald lawn like a massive could that had floated down to rest. There was no telling how much precious water had been used to maintain that brilliant grassy oasis, freshly rolled out and laid only a few days ago. And every tender green blade would have been pulled up tomorrow.  
Stardust was four-thousand-acre-working ranch with a main lodge, a compound of guest house and assorted buildings, a barn, and a riding arena. Zayn’s event planning studio had arranged to lease the private property while the owners were away on a two-week cruise. The couple had agreed on condition the property would be restored to exactly the way it had been before the wedding.  
“How long you been at this?” Liam asked.  
“Wedding planning? My sister Sofia and I started the business about three years ago. Before that, I worked in bridal fashion design in New York.”  
“You must be good, if you were hired for Harry Style’s wedding. Anne and Ray wouldn’t settle for anyone but the best.”  
The Styles owned a chain of pawnshops from Lubbock to Galveston. Ray Styles, a former rodeo rider with a face like a pine knot, had laid out a cool million for his only son’s wedding. If Zayn’s event team pulled this off, there was no telling how many high-profile clients we might gain from it.  
“Thanks,” Zayn said. “We’ve got a good team. My sister is very creative.”  
“What about you?”  
“I take care of the business side of the things. And I’m the head coordinator. It’s up to me to make sure that detail is perfect.”  
Both of them reached the pavilion, where a trio of reps from the rental company were sitting up white-painted chairs. Rummaging through Zayn’s bag, Zayn found a metal tape measure. With a few expert tugs, he extended it across the space between the codes that had been skated out to line up chairs.  
“The sidle has to be six feet wide,”  
Zayn called out to the reps. “Move the code please.”  
“It is six feet.” One of them called back.  
“It’s five feet and ten inches.”  
The rep gave Zayn a long-suffering glance. “isn’t that close enough?”  
“Six feet.” Zayn insisted, and snapped the measuring tape closed.  
“What do you do when you’re not working?” Liam asked Zayn from behind.  
Zayn turned to face him. “I’m always working.”  
“Always?” he asked skeptically.  
“I’m sure I’ll slow down when the business is more established. But for now…” Zayn shrugged. Zayn could never seem to cram enough into one day. E-mails, phone calls, plans to be made, arrangements to nail down.  
“Everyone needs some kind of hobby.”  
“What’s yours?”  
“Fishing, when I get the chance. Hunting, depending on the season. Every now and then I do some charity photography.”  
“What kind of charity?”

“a local animal shelter. A good photo on the website can help a dog get adopted sooner.” Liam paused.” Maybe you’d like to— “  
“I’m sorry – excuse me.” Zayn had heard the ringing tone from somewhere in the abyss of his bag, repeating the five notes of “Here Comes the Bride.” As he retrieved the phone, he saw it was his sister’s ID.  
“I’ve been calling the dove handler, and he won’t answer.” Sofia said as soon as I answered. “He never confirmed which container we wanted for the release.”  
“Did you leave a message?” Zayn asked.  
“Five messages. What if something’s wrong? What if he’s sick?”  
“He’s not sick.” Zayn assured her.  
“Maybe he got the bird flu from his doves.”  
“His birds aren’t doves. They are white pigeons, and pigeons are resisted to bird flu.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Try him again in a couple of hours,” Zayn said soothingly. “It’s only seven. He may not even be awake yet.”  
“What if he’s a no show?”  
“He’ll be here,” Zayn said. “It’s too early in the day to freak out Sofia.”  
“When am I allowed to freak out?”  
“You’re not,” Zayn said. “I’m the only one who gets to do that. Let me know if you don’t hear from him by ten.”  
” Okay.”  
Zayn slipped the phone back in to his bag and gave Liam an inquiring glance. “You were saying something about the animal shelter?”  
He stared down at Zayn. His thumbs were hooked in his pocket, most of his weight braced on one leg, in a stance that was both assertive and relaxed. Zayn had never seen anything sexier in his life.  
“I could take you along with me,” he said, “next time I head over there... I wouldn’t mind sharing my hobby until you get one of your own.”

Zayn was slow to respond. His thoughts had scattered like a flock of baby chicks at a petting zoo. he had the impression that he was asking me to go somewhere with him. Almost like… a date?  
“Thanks.” Zayn said eventually. “but my schedule is full.”  
“Let me take you out sometime.” He urged. “We could go out for drinks or lunch.”  
Zayn was rarely a loss for words, but all Zayn could do was stand there in a baffled silence.  
“Tell you what...” His voice turned coaxing and soft. “I’ll derive you to Fredericksburg one morning, while the day is still cool and we have the road to ourselves. We’ll stop to buy some coffee and a bag of kolaches. I’ll take you to a meadow so full of bluebonnets, you’ll swear half of the sky just fell over Texas. We’ll find us a shade tree and watch the sunrise. How does that sound?”  
It’s sounded like the kind of day meant for some other person, someone who was accustomed to being charmed by handsome men. For a second Zayn let himself imagine it, lounging with him on a quiet in a blue meadow. Zayn was on the verge of agreeing to anything Liam asked. But he couldn’t afford to take such a risk. Not now, not ever. A man like Liam Payne had undoubtedly broken so many hearts that mine would nothing to him.  
“I’m not available.” Zayn blurted out.  
“You’re married?”  
“No.”  
“Engaged?”  
“No.”  
“Living with someone?”  
Zayn shook head.  
Liam was quite for a seconds, staring at Zayn as if Zayn was a puzzle that he wanted to solve. “I’ll see you later,” he said eventually. “And in the meantime… I’m going to figure out how to get a ‘yes’ out of you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you doing?"
> 
> "Googling him."
> 
> "Right now?"
> 
> "It will only take a minute."
> 
> "You don't have a minute-- you supposed to be working!"
> 
> Ignoring Zayn, Sofia kept pecking at the keyboard, two finger style. 
> 
> "I don't care what you found out abouf him." Zayn said. "Because I happened to be busy with this thing we've got sheduled.... what was it?... oh yes a wedding!"
> 
> "He's hot," Sofia said, staring at his monitor."So is his brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! So I'm back. I know it's just one day. But guess what? I'm so excited to post this!! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos. They are really really appreciated. :) 
> 
> I'm planning update twice in a week maybe more but no less. So I hope you guys will enjoy this!! Go ahead :)

Feeling somewhat dazed after encounter with Liam Payne, Zayn went to the main house and found his sister in the office. Social was beautiful and dark haired,her eyes hazel green. She had a curvy figure unlike Zayn's, but she dressed with flair, having no reservations about flaunting her hourglass shape.

"The dove handler just called back," Sofia said triumphantly. "The birds are confirmed." She gave Zayn a concerned glance.  
"Your face is red. Are you dehydrated?" She handed him a bottle of water."Here."

"I just met someone," Zayn said after few gulps.

"Who? What happened?"

Sofia and zayn were half siblings who had been raised apart. She had lived with her in San Antonio, while Zayn had lived with his in Dallas. Although he had been aware of Sofia's existence, Zayn hadn't met her until they were both grown. The Malik family tree had too many branches, thank's to their father's five failed marriages and prolific affairs. 

Yasar, a handsome man with a raven hair and a blinding smile, had pursued women compulsively. He had love the emotional and sexual high of conquest. Once the excitement has faded, however he'd never been able to settle in to everyday life with one woman. For that matter, he'd never stayed with one job more than a year or two.

There had been children beside Sofia and Zayn, half siblings and innumerable step siblings. All of them had been abandoned by Yasar, in turn. After the occasional call or the visit, he would disappear for long periods, sometimes couple of years. And then he would be reappear briefly, magnetic and existing, full of interesting stories and promises that Zayn knew better than believe. 

The first time Zayn met Sofia had been right after Yasar had suffered a major stroke, an unexpected even for a man for his age and good physical condition. Zayn had flown down from New York city to find an unfamiliar young woman waiting in his hospital room.

Before she had introduced herself, he knew she was one of Yasar's children. Although her colouring-glowing amber skin, and black eyes -had come from her Hispanic mother's side of the family, her fine sculptured features unmistakably been inherited by their father.

She had given him a cautious but friendly smile. "I'm Sofia."

"Zayn." Zayn had reached out for an awkward handshake, but she moved forward to hug instead, and he'd found himself reciprocating and thinking, his sister, with a thrill connection he wouldn't have expected. He had look over ge shoulder at Yasar in hospital bed hooked up to machines, and Zayn hadn't been able to make himself let go. That had been fine with Sofia, who was never the first one to end a hug.

In vast accumulation of Yasar's offspring and exes, Sofia and Zayn were the only ones who showed up. Zayn didn't blame anyo of the others for that: he hadn't been sure why he was there. Yasar had never read him a bed time story, or bandaged a skinned knee, or done a any of things father's were supposed to do.

In his self-absorption, there had been no attention to spare his children. Moreover, the plain and fury of the women he'd abandoned had made it difficult to contact their children, even if he wanted to. Yasar's usual mehod of ending a relationship or marriage was to have an exit affair, cheating until he was caught and kicked out. Zayn's mother had never forgiven him for that. 

But his mom had repeated the same pattern, taking up with liars, cheaters, deadbeats, men who wore their red flags on their sleeves. Among the tumult affairs, she had married and divorced two more times. Love had brought her so little, it was a wonder that she kept searching for it.

As Zayn became older, however, he wondered if the reason his mother hated so much Yasar was that they were so similar. Zyan found no amall irony in the fact that that she was a temp Secretary,going form office to office, boss to boss.Zayn had been too mouthy to resist pointing out with that attitude,she probably wouldn't married to Yasar anyway. 

That had provoked the argument they had nearly resulted in Zayn getting kicked out of the house. His mom had been so infuriated by his comment that had he knew he was right. 

As far as nothing Zayn's father, every women he'd supposedly loved, even the once he married, had been nothing more than a stop along the way to someone else. He had been single traveler on his life journey, and that was how it had ended. The office manager of Yasar's apartment had found him unconscious on the floor of his living room, after he failed to renew his lease.

Yasar had been rushed to hospital in an ambulance, but he had never regain consciousness.

"My mother's not coming."

Zayn had told Sofia as they sat together in the hospital room.

"Mine either."

They had glanced each other in a mutual understanding. Neither of them had ask why no one else had come to day good bye. When a man abandoned his family, the hurt of it keeps bringing out the worst in them long after he'd gone. 

"Why are you here." Zayn dared to ask. 

While Sofia considered her answer, the silence was punctuated by the beeps from the monitor and the ventilator's constant rhythmic whoosh. 

"My family is Mexican." She finally said. "To them everything is about togetherness and tradition. I always wanted to belong, but I knew I was different. My cousin's all had fathers, while mine was a mystery. Mama would never talked about him." 

Her gaze went to the bed where their father lay enmeshed inside a tangle of tube and wires that hydrated, fed, breathed,regulated, and drained.

"I only saw him once, when I was a little girl and he came to visit. Mama wouldn't let him talk to me, But I ran after him when he walked out to his car. He was holding some balloons he bought out for me." She smiled absently. "I thought he was the handsomest man in the world. He tied the ribbons around my wrist so the balloons wouldn't float away. After he drove off, I tried to bring the balloons home, but mama had said I had to get rid of the balloons, so I untied them and let them go, and made a wish as I watched then float away. "

"You wished that you would see him again someday."Zayn said quietly.

Sofia nodded. "That's why I came. What about you?"

"Because I thought no one else would be here. And if someone had to take care of Yasar, I didn't want it to be a total stranger."

Sofia hand had covered Zayn's, as naturally they'd known each other all their lives.

"Now it's just the two of us." She said simply. 

Yasar has passed away the next day. But the process of losing him,Sofia and zayn had found each other. 

At the time Zayn had working in bridal couture, but his carrier had been going nowhere. Sofia had been working as a nanny in San Antonio, planning children's parties. They had talked about starting a wedding-planning studio together. Now a little more than three years later, their Houston base business was working out better than they had even dared to hope. With the style's wedding, they were on the verge of a breakthrough. 

As long as they didn't screw up.

"Why didn't you say yes?" Sofia demanded after Zayn told her about the meeting with Liam Payne.

"Because I don't believe for one minute that he was actually interested in me. I mean I don't know even if he's gay!" Zayn paused. "Oh don't give me that look. You know that type of guys for trophy people."

"Like he would ask you for a date if he's straight!" Sofia rolled her eyes.

Zayn had been clearly aware how he'd look since adolescence. From his father he had sculpted features like his sharp cut of his jaw, dark amber eyes,raven hair which was now, can cover his neck now if he wasn't tied it up to a knot, lean body and brown glowing skin color. He knew he gets these interesting looks wherever he went from both males and females. But at the edge of sixteen he figured out his sexuality, thanks to his best friend at that time, Perrie. 

But he really didn't want to impress anyone unless he wanted to. Basically nine out of ten times he didn't want to because he didn't found anyone worth it in a long time. But he kept engaed with keeping his good look neutral no matter what saying himself that was all for his health.

Zayn knew that he shouldn't let a bathroom scale stand between his and his happiness. Someday he won but, more often than not, the scale won.

"My grand mother always says,' solo las ollas saben loss hervores de su caldo."

"Some thing about soup?" Zayn guessed. Whenever Sofia related poem of her grand mother's wisdom,it usually took the form of food analogies. 

"Only pot know the boiling of their broths," Sofia said.  
"Maybe Liam Payne is the kind who loves a man who wears sweaters and joggers for a wedding! The men I knew in San Antonio always went for the women with big tits." She patted her rear end of emphasis and went to her laptop. 

"What are you doing?"

"Googling him."

"Right now?"

"It will only take a minute."

"You don't have a minute-- you supposed to be working!"

Ignoring Zayn, Sofia kept pecking at the keyboard, two finger style. 

"I don't care what you found out abouf him." Zayn said. "Because I happened to be busy with this thing we've got sheduled.... what was it?... oh yes a wedding!"

"He's hot," Sofia said, staring at his monitor.  
"So is his brother."

She has clicked on a Houston chronicle article headed with a photo of three men, all dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. One of them was Liam, much younger and lankier than he'd been today. He must have packed on a least thirty pounds of muscle since the photo had been taken. A caption beneth the picture identified the other two as Liam's brother Jack and father, Churchill. 

Both sons were taller than their sire, they bore his stand- the dark brown hair and intense brown eyes, the pronounced jawlines. 

Zayn frowned as he read the accompanying article.

HOUSTON, Texas(AP) in the aftermath of the explotion on their private boat, two sons of Houstan business Churchill Payne Fred water among fiery derbies for approximately four hours as they waited for rescue.

After a massive search effort by Coast guard, the brothers Jack and Liam were located in gulf waters off Galveston. Liam Payne was air lifted directly to the level one trauma unit at garner hospital for immediate surgery. According to a hospital spokesman, his condition has been listed as critical but stable. Although details of the surgery have not been released, a sourse close to the family confirmed that Payne was suffering from internal bleeding as well as--

"Wait." Zayn protested as Sofia clicked on another link.  
"I was still reading."

"Thought you weren't interesting." She said impishly. 

"Here look at this." Sofia found a web page labeled 'Houston's top ten eligible bachelors' the article featured a candid shot of Liam playing football on the beach woth his friends, his body sleeked and hard looking, muscular without being muscle bound. The expanded of the dark hair in his chest narrowed to the dark line that led to the waistband of his broad shorts. Zayn felt his dick twitch in excitement.

It was a puncture of self-concious masculinity, off-charts hot.

"Six foot one," Sofia said reading his stats. "Twenty nine years old. Engineer, graduated of UT. A Leo. Photographer."

 

"Cliche." Zayn said dismissively. 

"Being a photographer is cliche?"

 

"Not for an ordinary guy. But for a trust fund baby, it's total vanity job.

"Who cares? Let's see if he has a website."

"Sofia it's time to stop fangirling over thia guy and get some work done."

A new voice entered to the conversation as Zayn's assistant Steven Cavanaugh, walking to the office. He was good looking man in his mid twenties, blue eyes and blond and lean. 

"Fangirling with who?" He asked. Sofia replied before Zayn was able.

"Liam Payne." She said. "One of those Paynes. Zayn just met him."

Steven glanced at Zayn with acute interest. "They did a story on him in culture map last year. He won a key art award for that movie poster."

"What movie poster?"

"The one for the documentary about soldiers and military dogs." Steven looked sardonic as he saw their mystified expressions. 

"I forgot the two of you watch zombie tv series and supernatural telenovels, Other than something important. Liam Payne went to Afghanistan with the film crew as the stills photographer. They used one of his shots for the poster." He smiled at Zayn's expression. 

"You should read the whole paper more often, other than comics Zayn, it comes in handy in an occasion."

"That's what I have you for." Zayn said.

Nothing escaped the intricate filling cabinet of Steven's mind. Zayn envied his real total recall details such as whole someone's son had gone to college or the name of their dog, or if they just had a birthday. 

Among his many talents, Steven was interior designer, a graphic design specialist., and a trained EMT. Sofia and Zayn hired him immediately after starting Malik even design, and he had become so necessary to the business that Zayn couldn't imagine doing without him.

"He asked Zayn out." Sofia told Steven.

Giving Zayn a dark glance, Steven asked, "What did you say?" At Zayn's silence he turned toward Sofia.  
"Don't tell me he shut him down."

"He shut him down." Sofia said. 

"Of course." Steven's tone was cold. 

"Zayn would never waste his time with a rich, successful guy whose name would open to any door in Houstan."

"Drop it," Zayn said curtly. "We've got work to do."

"First I want to take to you." Steven glanced at Sofia. "Do me a favor and make sure they've started the reception tables."

"Don't order me around."

"I wasn't ordering, I was asking."

"It didn't sound like asking."

"Please," Steven said acidly. "Pretty please Sofia,go to the reception tent and see if they've strted setting the tables."

Sofua let the room with a scowl.

Zayn shook his head with a exasperation. Sofia and Steven were cantankerous with each other, quick to take offence, slow to forgive, in a way that neither of them with anyone else. 

It hadn't started off that way. When Steven first been hired, he and Sofia become fast friends. He was sophisticated and meticulously groomed and had suffered his acid wit that Sofia and Zayn had automatically assumed that he was gay. It had veen three months before they realized he wasn't. 

"No, I'm straight." He had said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

"But... you went cloth shopping with me." Sofia had protested. 

"Because you asked me to."

"I let you on to the dressing room." Sofia had continued increasingly irate. "I tired a dress infront of you. And you never said a word!"

"I said thank you."

"You should have told me you wouldn't gay!"

"I'm not gay."

"It's too late now." Sofia had snapped.

Ever since then Zayn's sunny natured sister had found it difficult to muster anything more than the barest degree of politeness toward Steven. And he responded in a kind, his barberd comments never failing to hit the target. Only Zayn's frequent innervations kept their conflict from escalating to an all out war. 

After Sofia left, Steven closed the office door for privacy. He leaned back against it and folded his arms as he contemplated Zayn with an unreadable expression. 

"Really?" Hr eventually asked. "You are really that insecure?"

"I'm not allowed to say no when a man asked me out?"

"When was the last time you said yes? When have you gone out for coffee or drinks? Or even had a non business related conversation with a guy?"

"That's non of your business."

"As a employee... youre right it isn't. But at the moment I'm talking to you as a friend. You're healthy and very attractive twenty four years old man, and as far as I know you haven't been anyone for over three years. You're wasting your best years,honey. For your own sake whether it's this guy or another guy you need to get back in the game."

"He's not my type."

"He's rich, handsome, single and.. a Payne." Came Steven's sardonic reply.

"He's everyone's type."

By the end of the day Zayn felt as he walked over thousand miles, vectoring between the reception team, ceremony pavilion and the main lodge. Although it seems everything was coming together, Zayn knew better than to succumub to a false sense of a security.  
Last minute problems never failed to plauge even the most meticulously planned ceremonies. 

The members of the production team worked their best to handle any issues that ctoped up. 

Louis Tomlinson, a burly handyman, was proficient with carpentry, electronics and mechanical rapair.

Ree-Ann Davis, a sassy blond assistant with background of a hotel management, had been assined as a bride and brides handler or grooms if the necessity pop up.

A brunette intern, Elanour Calder, who was taking a gap year before starting at rice, was managing the groom's family. 

 

Zayn use to radio earpice and clips on mike to stay in constant communication with Sofia and Steven.at first they felt silly using standrd voice producers for the hand free radio's, but Steven had insisted, saying there was no way he could tolerate both Zayn's voice and Sofia's in his ears, without some rules. 

They had soon realized Steven was right: otherwise they would have constantly talked over each other. 

An hour before guests were scheduled to be seated, Zayn went to the reception tent. The interior had been flowed with eight thousand feet of rare purple heart hardwood. It looked like a fairy tale.

A dozen twenty foot high maple trees, each weighing a half a ton, had been brought inside the tent to create a lavish forest, with scattering LED fireflies winking among the leaves. 

Stands of unpolished rock crystal hung in a loop from a raw bronze chandeliers. Luxuriant live moss crossed the long table in organically shape runners. Each place settings had been accented with a wedding favor of a skittished honey sealed in a tiny crystal jar.

Outside a raw of ten-pin porta Pac units pumped nonstop, chilling the air inside to a bliss full sixty eight degrees. Zayn breathed deeply, relishing the coolness as Zayn looked at his final count down list.

"Sofia." Zayn said to the mike, "has the bagpiper arived? Over."

"Affirmative." Zayn's sister said. "I just took the main lodge. There's a craft room between the kichen and the housekeeper's room where he can tune up. Over."

"Rodger, Steven, this is Zayn. I need to change my cloths. Can you hadle things while I take five? Over."

"Zayn, that's a negative. We've gotban issue with the dove release. Over."

Zayn frowned. "Whays going on?Over."

"There's a hawk, oak grove next to the wedding pavilion. The dove handler says he can't release his birds with a predator in the vincity. Over."

"Tell well pay extra if one of them gets eaten. Over."

Sofia broke in." Zayn we can't have a dove snatched from the sky and killed infront of the guests.Over."

"We're at the south Texas ranch." Zayn said. "Well be lucky if the half the guests don't start shooting doves. Over."

"It against the state's federal law to capture, harm or kill a hawk. Steven said." How do you propose we deal with it? Over."

"Is it illegal to scare the damn things off? Over."

"I don't think so. Over."

"Then havr Louis figure it out. Over."

"Zayn, stand by," Sofia interrupted urgently. After a pause she said, "I'm with El. She says groom Niall has cold feet. Over."

"Is this a joke?" Zayn asked, stunned. "Over."

Although the engagement and wedding planning, one of the grooms, Niall Horan, Had been rock solid. A nice guy. In the past some couples had given Zayn cause the wonder if they'd even make it to the altar, but Niall and Harry seemed to be genuinely in love.

"No joke." Sofia said. 

"Niall just said El, he wants to call it off. Over."

~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's basically introduction of the characters' past and on going situations. Next chapter there will be some Ziam moments and Narry wedding! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically it's about Narry wedding and Zayn's past relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Thank you so much for the great comments! And kudos! I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> Ps:
> 
> Plz forget about the end notes down there, I have no idea how to stop displaying it!! :( if someone know plz lemme know.

Over. The word seemed echoed in Zayn's ears.

A million dollars wasted.

All of their careers were on the line.

And Harry Styles would be devastated.

Zayn was filled with what felt like equivalent of hundreds shots of adrenaline. “No one is calling this wedding off,” Zayn said in a murderous tone. “I will handle this. Tell El not to let Niall talk to anyone until I get there. Quarantine him, Understand? Over.”

“Copy. Over.”

“Out.”

Zayn stalked across the grounds to the guesthouse where Niall’s family was getting ready for the ceremony. Zayn fought to keep from breaking in to run. As soon as Zayn entered to the house, Zayn botted his blotted face with a handful of tissues. The sound of laughter, conversation and clinking glasses floated from the living room of the main floor.

El was Zayn’s side instantly. She was dressed in a pale silver gray skirt suit, her micro braids pulled back in a controlled law bun. High-pressure situations never seemed to fluster her: in fact, she usually became even calmer in the face of emergency. As Zayn looked in to her eyes, however he saw the sign of panic. The ice in the drink she held was rattling slightly. Whatever was happening with Niall, it was serious.

 

“Zayn, “she whispered, “Thank god you’re here. Niall’s trying to call it off.”

“Any idea why?”

“I’m sure the best man has something to do with it.”

“Wyatt Vandale?” 

“Uh-huh. He’s been making comments all afternoon, like how marriage is nothing but a trap, and Harry’s going to wants many kids, which will make him forget Niall ever exist, and how Niall better make sure it isn’t mistake. I can’t get him out of the upstairs parlor. He’s stuck to Niall like glue.”

 

Zayn cursed himself for not having anticipated something like this. Niall’s best friend, Wyatt, was a spoiled brat whose family’s money had afforded him the luxury of delaying adulthood for as long as possible. He was crude and obnoxious and never wasted an opportunity to demean women or men particularly. Harry despite Wyatt, he had told Zayn that because Wyatt had been friends with Niall since the first grade, he would have to be tolerated. Whenever Harry complained about Wyatt’s vileness, Niall told him that Wyatt was good at heart but tended to express him badly. The problem was, Wyatt expressed himself perfectly.

El handed Zayn the glass filled with ice and amber liquid. “This is for Niall. I know about the no-booze rule, but trust me, It’s time to break it.”

Zayn took the drink from her. “All right. I’ll take it to him. Niall and I are about to have a come-to-Fiery-Jesus moment, but trust me, Don’t let anyone interrupt.”

“What about Wyatt?”

“I’ll get rid of him.” Zayn gave her his headset. Keep in touch with Sofia and Steven.”

“Should I tell them we’re going to start later?”

“We’re going to start precisely on time,” Zayn said grimly. “If we don’t, we lost the best light for the ceremony, and we also loose the dove release. Those birds have to fly back to clear lake, and they can’t do it in the dark.”

El nodded and put on the headset, adjusting the microphone. Zayn ascended to the stairs, went to the prior, and tapped at the partially opened open door. “Niall,” Zayn askes in the calmest tone he could manage. “May I come in? It’s Zayn.”

“Look whose here,” Wyatt exclaimed as Zayn entered the room. His expensive tux was disheveled and his black tie was missing. He was full of swagger, certain that he’s ruined Harry Styles big day. “What did I tell you, Niall? Now he’s gonna try and talk to you out of it.” He shot a triumphant glance. “Too late, his mind’s made up.”

Zayn glanced at the ashen-faced groom, who sat slumped on a love seat. He didn’t look at all himself.

 

“Wyatt,” Zayn said, “I need a moment alone with Niall.”

“He can stay,” Niall said in a subdued voice. “He’s got my back.”

Yes, Zayn was tempted to say, that knife he stuck in it sure makes a nice handle. But instead Zayn murmured, “Wyatt needs to get ready for the ceremony.”

The best man smiled at Zayn. “Didn’t you hear? Wedding’s been cancelled.”

“That’s not your decision.” Zayn said.

“Why do you care?” Wyatt asked. “You’ll get paid anyway.”

“I care about Niall and Harry. And I care about the people who’ve worked hard to make this a very special day for them.”

“Well. I’ve known this guy here since the first grade. And I’m not gonna let him be pushed around by you and your flunkies just because Harry Styles decided it was time to put a noose around his neck.”

Zayn went to Niall and handed him the drink. He took it gratefully.

Zayn pulled out his cell phone. “Wyatt,” Zayn said in a matter-of-fact tone as he scrolled through his contact list, “your opinions are not relevant. This wedding is not about you. I’d like you to leave, please.”

Wyatt laughed. “Who’s gonna make me?” 

Having found Ray Styles’s number on his contact list, Zayn auto-dialed him. As a former rodeo rider, Harry’s father was breed of a man who, despite cracked ribs and bruised organs, willingly climbed atop an enlarged two-thousand-pound animal for a ride that was equivalent of being whacked repeatedly between the legs with a baseball bat.

Ray answered. “Styles.”

"It’s Zayn,” Zayn said. “I’m next door with Niall. We’re having an issues with his friend Wyatt.”

Ray, who had been visibly annoyed with Wyatt’s behavior at the rehearsal dinner, asked, “That little sum-bitch to stir up trouble?”

“He is,” Zayn replied, while narrowing his eyes at Wyatt, “And I thought you’d be the one to explain to him how to behave at Harry’s big day.”

“You got that right honey,” Ray said with untrammeled enthusiasm. As Zayn had guessed, Ray was more than happy to have something to rather than standing idly in his tuxedo and make small talk. “I’ll be right over to give him a talking-to,”

“Thank you, Ray.”

As Zayn ended the phone call and Naill heard the name, eyes bulged. “Shit, did you just called Harry’s father?” 

Zayn turned a cool stare in Wyatt’s direction. “I’d get lost, if I were you,” Zayn told him. “Or in a couple of minutes there won’t be enough of you left to wad a shotgun.”

“Bitch.” Glaring at Zayn, Wyatt stormed out of the room.

Zayn locked the door behind him and turned to Niall, who had gulped down his drink. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Zayn.

“Wyatt trying to look out for me,” he mumbled.

“By sabotaging your own wedding?” Zayn pulled up a nearby ottoman and sat to face Niall, steeling himself not to look at his watch or think about how he need to change cloths. “Niall, I’ve seen you with Harry from the beginning of the engagement until right now. I believe you love him. But the fact is, nothing Wyatt said would have made a bit of a difference unless something was going on. So tell me what the problem is.”

Niall’s gaze met Zayn’s, and he gestured helplessly as he replied. “When you think about how many couples divorce, it’s crazy that anyone wants to try it in the first place. A fifty-fifty chance. What guy in his right mind would go for those odds?”

“Those odds are general odds.” Zayn said. “Those aren’t your odds.” Seeing his bewilderment, Zayn said, “people get married for all kind of wrong reasons; infatuation, fear of being alone, pregnancy. Since pregnancy isn’t even a problem here, does even the other two apply to you or Harry?”

“No.”

“Then when you cut those people out of the equation, your statics are lot better than fifty-fifty.”

“Niall rubbed his forehead with and unsteady hand. “I have to tell Harry that I need more time to be sure about all this.”

“More time?” Zayn echoed dazedly. “The wedding ceremony is going to start in forty-five minutes.”

“I’m not cancelling, I’m postponing it.”

Zayn stared at him incredulously. “Postponing isn’t an option, Niall. Harry has planned and dreamed about this wedding for months, and her family’s spent a fortune. If you call it off at the last minute, you’re not going to get another chance.”

“We’re talking about the rest of my life,” he said in a rising agitation. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“God help me,” Zayn burst out. “Do you think Harry has no room for doubt? This wedding is an act of trust on his part too. It’s risk for him too! But he’s willing to take a chance because he loves you. He’s going to show up at the altar. And you’re seriously telling me that you are going to humiliate him in-front of everyone you both know and make him a laughingstock? Do you understand what that’s going to do to her?”

“You don’t know what this is like. You’ve never been married.” As Niall saw Zayn’s face, he paused and said uncertainly, “Have you?”

Zayn’s fury faded abruptly. In the process of planning and coordinating a wedding, especially one on this scale, it’s easy to forget how terrifying the process was the two people with most at stake.

Taking off his glasses, Zayn shook is head. “No, I’ve never been married,” he said, cleaning the glasses with a tissue from his bag. “I was jilted on the wedding day. Which was probably makes me the worst possible person to talk to you right now.”

“Hell,” Zayn heard him mutter. “I’m sorry, Zayn.”

Zayn replaces the glasses and bailed the tissue in his fist.

Niall was facing a life-altering decision, he had the look if a five month hog on a butchering day. Zayn had to make him aware of what he was doing. For his sake, and specially for Harry’s sake.

Zayn cast a longing glance at the empty glass in Niall’s hands, wishing he could have a drink, too. Hunkering down on the ottoman, Zayn said, “calling off this wedding isn’t just cancelling a social event, Niall. It’s going to change everything. And it’s going to hurt Harry in a ways you haven’t considered.”

He stared at Zayn alterly, his brow furrowed. “Sure, he’ll disappointed,” he began. “But –“

“Disappointment is the least of what he’s going to feel.” Zayn interrupted. “And even if he loves you after this, she won’t trust you. Why would she? When you broke your promises?”

“I haven’t made any promises yet,” he said.

“You asked him to marry you.” Zayn said. “That means you promised to be there when he walked down the aisle.”

As heavy silence descended, Zayn realized that he was going to have to tell Niall Horan about the worst day of his life. The memory was wound that had never fully healed, and he wasn’t exactly eager to rip it open for a young man he didn’t really know. However Zayn couldn’t think of any other way to make this situation clear to him.

“My wedding was supposed to happen in two and a half year ago,” Zayn said. “I was living in New York at that time, working as a fashion designer with my fiance, Brian, did equity research on wall street. We’d gone out for one years and then lived together for another two, and at some point we started talking around getting married. I planned a small, beautiful wedding. I even flew my deadbeat dad up to New York, so he could walk me down the aisle. Everything was going to be perfect. But on the morning of the wedding, Brian left the apartment before I woke up, and called to tell me he couldn’t go through with it. He’d made a mistake. He said he thought that he loved me, but he didn’t. he wasn’t sure he ever has.”

“Damn.” Niall said quietly.

“People are wrong when they say that time will mend a broken heart. It doesn’t always. My heart stayed broken. I’ve had to learn to live with it that way, I’ll never able to trust anyone who says he loves me,” Zayn paused before forcing himself to say with stark honesty. “I’m so afraid of being dumped again that I’m always first to leave. I’ve broken off potential relationships because I’d rather be lonely than hurt. I don’t like it, but that’s the who I am now.”

Niall stared at Zayn with concern and kindness. He looked like himself again, no longer spooked. “I’m surprised you stayed in the wedding business after being jilted.”

“I thought of quitting,” Zayn admitted. But somewhere inside, I still believe in the fairytale. Not for myself, but for other people.”

“For me and Harry?” he asked unsmiling.

“Yes, why not?”

Niall turned the empty glas around in his hands. “My parents divorced when I was eight,” he said. “But they never stopped trying to my brother and me against each other. Lying, backstabbing, arguing, ruining every birthday and holiday. That’s why my mom and step dad on the guest list: I knew if they were here they’d cause all the kinds of problems. How am I supposed to have a good marriage when I’ve never seen it done right?” His gaze lifted to Zayn’s. “I’m not asking for a fairy tale. I just need to be sure if I get married, it won’t turn in to a nightmare someday.”

“I can’t promise you never get divorced.” Zayn said. “Marriage doesn’t come with guarantees. It’s only going to work for as long as you and Harry both want it to. For as long as you’re both willing to keep your promises.” Zayn took deep breath. “Let me see if I get this straight, Niall… you haven’t gotten cold feet because you don’t love Harry… you have cold feet because you do love her. You want to call it off because you don’t want the marriage to fail. Is that right?”

Niall’s face changed.” Yeah.” He said in a wondering tone. “That… kind of makes me sounds like an idiot, doesn’t it?”

“it makes you sound a little mixed up,” Zayn said gently. “Let e ask you something… has Harry given you any reason to doubt her? Is there something about the relationship that’s isn’t going to work for you?”

“Hell, no. He’s terrific. Sweet, smart… I’m the luckiest guy on earth.”

Zayn was quiet, letting him work it out himself.

“The luckiest guy on earth,”Niall repeated slowly. “Holy shit – I’m about to screw up the best thing that ever happened to me. To hell with my parents’ sorry-ass marriage. I’m going to do this.”

“Then…the wedding’s on?” Zayn asked cautiously.

“It’s on.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.” Niall met Zayn’s gaze directly. “Thanks for telling me about what you went through. I know it wasn’t easy for you to talk about.”

“If it helped, I’m glad. As they both stood, Zayn discovered his legs were shaky.

Niall looked down at Zayn with a slight grimace. “We don’t have mention this to anyone… do we?”

“I’m like a lawyer or doctor,” Zayn assured him. “Our conversations are confidential.”

He nodded and heaved with a sigh of relief.

“I’m going to go now,” Zayn told him. “In the meantime, I think you should keep up your distance from Wyatt and his nonsense. I know he’s your friend, but frankly, he’s the worst best man I’ve ever seen.”

Niall grinned crookedly. “I won’t argue with that.”

As Niall walked him to the door, Zayn reflected that it took courage for him to make the commitment he was most afraid of. A kind of courage Zayn would never have. No man would ever again have the power to let him down the way Brian had… the way Niall had nearly let Harry down just now. Feeling relieved and wrung out, picked up his bag.

“See you soon,” Niall called after Zayn as he left the room and went downstairs.

Zayn supposed it was somewhat hypocritical, having urged someone to take achance on getting married when he no intentions of doing the same. But his instincts told him that Niall and Harry would be happy together, or at least they had as good a chance as anyone.

El was waiting downstairs by the front door. “Well?” She asked anxiously.

“Full steam ahead,” Zayn said.

“Thank god.” She handed him the radio headset. “I figured you had everything under control when I saw Wyatt trying to hightail it out here. Ray Styles caught him at the front doorstep. Literally gripped him by the back of the neck like a dog with a rat."

“And?”

“Mr. Styles dragged him off somewhere, and no one’s seen hide or hair of either of them since.”

“What’s happening with the dove release?”

“Louis asked Steven to help him find some ABS pipe and a barbecue igniter, and he told me to rustle up a can of hair spray.” She pause. “And he sent Ree-ann to fetch some tennis balls.”

“Tennis balls? What is he –“

Zayn was interrupted by an earsplitting whistle followed by a violent blast. They both jumped and stared at each other with wide eyes. Another blast caused El to cover her ears with her hands. Boom… Boom… and in the distance He heard a masculine of hoots and hollers.

“Steven,” Zayn said urgently into the headset, “What’s happening? Over.”

“Louis says the hawk’s flown off. Over.”

There was a distinct note of enjoyment in Steven's voice. “Louis rigged up a grenade launcher and made some exploding tennis balls. He emptied out some black powder from a handful of bullet carriages, and… I’ll tell you the rest later. We’re about to start seating. Over.”

“Seating?” Zayn echoed, looking down at his dusty, sweat-stained outfit. “Now?”

El practically shove him outside. “You’ve got to change. Go straight to the main house. Don’t stop to talk to anyone!”

Zayn raced to the lodge and entered through a kitchen filled with busty caterers. As he proceed to the nearby crafts room, Zayn heard a strange musical bellow, fading in to something like a moan. He saw Sofia standing at a large wooden table beside an elderly man dressed in a kit. Both of them were looking at a tartan-covered bags bristling with black pipes.

Sofia, wearing a pink fit-and-flare dress, gave Zayn and appalled glance.” You haven’t changed yet?”

“What’s going on?” Zayn asked, instead.

“The bagpipes are broken.” She said. “Don’t worry. I can get a couple of musicians from the reception orchestra to play for the ceremony –“

“What do you mean they’re broken?”

“Bag’s leaking,” came the bagpiper’s glum reply. “I’ll refund your deposit like we agreed in the contract.”

Zayn shook his head wildly. Harry’s mother, Anne, had set her heart on a bagpipe professional. She would be deeply disappointed with a substitution. “I don’t want a refund, I want bagpipes. Where are your backups?”

“I don’t have backups. Not at two thousand dollars a set.”

Zayn pointed unsteady finger at the plaid heap on the table. “Then fix that.”

There’s not enough time, and no supplies. The seam of the inner bags come loose. It has to be sealed with heat-sensitive tape, and cured with a infrared light to – Mr, what are you doing?”

Zayn had gone to the table, seized the bag, and pulled out the Gore-tex lining with a determined tug. The pipe moaned like an eviscerated beast. Digging in to his bag, he found a role of silver duct tape, pulled it out, and tossed it to Sofia. She cought it in midair. “Patch it.” Zayn said tersely. Ignoring the bagpiper’s howls of protest Zayn raced off to the housekeeper’s room, where he had hung a black fitted hoodie, pair of black jeans and a over-sized black leather jacket.

Clumsy with haste, Zayn took off his dusty pants and hoodie, and had a quick shower. Then he quickly put on his black jeans which hugged his thighs perfectly which made his bum shine in the air. He put on his hoodie and jacket and took a look on the mirror. Zayn can see with a little work on hair he can at least presentable. Well he knew he’s already has hot as fuck look though.

Then he heard Sofia asked, “Do you need help?”

“Coming in.” Sofia entered the supply room and took in the scene with huge admiring gaze. “Wow, My lil brother, look hot as fuck!”

Zayn could practically feel his cheeks burning with red. Busily, she yanked the hair band from his hair and pushed a hair band with curves in the front through his hair.

“Hey, stop that –“

Your updo was a mess. There’s no time for a new one. Just leave it loose with that.”

“I look like an alpaca in a lightning storm.” Zayn tried to comb his hair backward with his hands. “And this hoodie is really tight. This was good and loose on me last winter—“

“You’re just not used wearing something that fits. You look fine. Great even. Liam’s gonna loose his shit if he sees you in this outfit.”

Zayn gave her a tortured glance and picked up his headset. “Have you checked in with Steven?” Zayn questioned ignoring he comment.

“Yes, everything’s under control. The ushers are seating the guest, and dove handler is ready with the birds. Go. I’ll bring the bagpiper soon as you give me the okay. “

By some miracle, the ceremony started on time. And the wedding unfolded more perfectly than Sofia and Zayn could have imagined. Lavish arrangements of the thistle, roses, and field flowers had been wrapped around every column of the pavilion. The bagpipe professional established a solemn but electrifying tone for the Harry’s party’s entrance.  
As Harry proceeded along the flower-strewn aisle runner, he looked like a prince in his black suit and maroon and black stripped blazer. Niall looked entirely happy as he stared at his Harry. No one could have doubted he was a man in love.

Zayn doubted anyone even noticed the sullen scowl on the best man’s face.

After vows were exchanged, a flock of white pigeons burst in to fight and soared through the coral-gazed sky in a moment so picturesque that the entire congregation let out a collective breath.

“Hallelujah,” Zayn heard Sofia whisper in the earpiece, and he grinned.

Much later, while the guests danced to orchestra music in the reception tent, Zayn stood in a quite corner and spoke to Steven on the headset. “I see a potential carry-off,” Zayn said quietly. “Over.” On occasion, we had to perform a discreet assisted removal guests who had too much to drink. The best way avoid problems was to catch them early.

“I see him,” Steven replied. “I’ll have Ree-Ann handles it. Over.”

Aware of a woman approaching, Zayn turned and smiled automatically. She was whippet-thin and elegant in a beaded panel-construction dress. Her blond bob was perfectly highlighted with a bar code of platinum streaks.

“Can I help you?” Zayn asked with a smile.

“You’re the one who planned this wedding?”

“Yes, along with my sister. I’m Zayn Malik.”

She sipped from a glass of champagne, her hand weighted with an emerald the size of an ashtray. Noticing that Zayn’s gaze had flickered to the beveled square-cut gem, she said, “My husband gave it to me for my forty-fifth birthday. A carat for each year.”

“It’s remarkable.”

“They say emeralds bestow the power to predict the future.”

“Does yours?” Zayn asked.

“Let’s say the future generally happens the way I want it to.” She took another dainty sip. “This turned out nice,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “Fancy, but not too formal. Imaginative. Most weddings I’ve been to this year have all looked the same.” She paused. “People are already saying this was the best wedding they’ve been to in years. But it’s only the second best.”

“What’s the best wedding?” He asked.

“The one you’re going to do for my daughter, Bethany. The wedding of the decade. The governor and an ex-president will be attending.” Her lips curved in a slender, catlike smile. “I’m Hollis Warner. And your career’s just been made.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get ready,” He heard Liam say. “I’m going to dip you.”
> 
> Zayn clutched at him. “Don’t, you’ll drop me.”
> 
> “I’m not going to drop you.” He sounded amused.
> 
> Zayn stiffened as he felt his hand slide to the center of his back. “I’m serious. Liam —”
> 
> “Trust me.”
> 
> “I don’t think —”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since i'm already done with chapter four, i thought i should post it because it has very intimate ZIAM moment. I know i'm out of the schedule which means i posted 4 chapters in 3 days! This one makes it a 4! almost done with chap 5 and i hope to post it tomorrow. :) And then once a week i'll be posting two chapters in a week. Maybe more. But no less. 
> 
> So it's all yours to read!!!!

As Hollis Warner sauntered away, Steven’s voice came through his earpiece.

“Her husband is David Warner. He inherited a restaurant business and parlayed it into casino resorts. Their fortune is obscene even by Houston standards. Over.”

“Do they —”

“Later. You’ve got company. Over.”

Blinking, Zayn turned to see Liam Payne approaching. The sight of him kicked his heart into a drum-fire rhythm. Liam was dazzling in a classic tux, wearing it with unself-conscious ease. The white edge of his collar formed a crisp contrast to an amber tan that seemed to go several layers deep, as if he’d been steeped in sun.

He smiled at Zayn. “I like your hair down like that.”

Self-consciously, Zayn reached up to try to flatten it. “It’s too messy.”

“For God’s sake,” he heard Steven’s acid voice in the earpiece. “When a man gives you a compliment, don’t argue with him. Over."

“Can you take a break for a few minutes?” Liam asked.

“I probably shouldn’t —,” Zayn began, and he heard both Steven’s and Sofia’s voices at the same time.

“Yes, you should!”

“Tell him yes!”

Zayn yanked off the earpiece and mike. “I don’t usually take a break during the reception,” He told Liam. “I need to keep an eye on things in case anyone has a problem.”

“I have a problem,” he said promptly. “I need a dance partner.”

“There are a half-dozen bridesmaids here who would love to dance with you,” Zayn said. “Individually or collectively.”

“None of them has eyes like yours.”

“Is that a requirement?”

“Let’s call it a strong preference.” Liam reached for Zayn’s hand. “Come on. They can do without you for a few minutes.”

Zayn flushed and hesitated. “My bag…” he glanced at the bulk of it wedged beneath the chair. “I can’t just —”

“I’ll watch over it,” came Sofia’s cheerful voice. She had appeared out of nowhere. “Go have fun.”

“Liam Payne,” Zayn said, “this is my sister Sofia. She’s single. Maybe you should —”

“Take her away,” Sofia told him, and they exchanged a grin.

Ignoring the dirty look Zayn gave her, Sofia murmured something into her radio mike.

Liam kept possession of Zayn’s hand, pulling him past tables and potted trees until they’d reached a semi secluded area at the other side of the reception tent. He signaled a waiter who was holding a tray of iced champagne.

“I’m supposed to be running things,” Zayn said. “I have to stay vigilant. Anything could happen. Someone could have a heart attack. The tent could catch on fire.”

After taking two glasses of champagne from the waiter, Liam handed one to Zayn and retained the other. “Even General Patton took a break sometimes,” he said. “Relax, Zayn.”

“I’ll try.” He held the crystal flute by the stem, its contents shimmering with tiny bubbles.

“To your beautiful brown eyes, or Amber? Yeah I guess it’s definitely amber with a touch of honey ” he said, lifting his glass.

Zayn flushed. “Thank you.” They clinked glasses and drank. The champagne was dry and delicious, the chilled fizz like starlight on his tongue.

Zayn’s view of the dance floor was obstructed by orchestra instruments, speakers, and ornamental trees. However, he thought he caught sight of Hollis Warner’s distinctive white-blond bob in the milling crowd.

“Do you happen to know Hollis Warner?” Zayn asked.

Liam nodded. “She’s a friend of the family. And last year I took pictures of her house for a magazine feature. Why?”

“I just met her. She was interested in discussing ideas for her daughter’s wedding.”

Liam gave him an alert glance. “Who’s Bethany engaged to?”

“I have no idea.”

“Bethany’s been going out with my cousin Ryan. But last time I saw him, he was planning to break up with her.”

“Maybe his feelings went deeper than he thought.”

“From what Ryan said, that doesn’t seem likely.”

“If I wanted to land Hollis as a client, what advice would you give me?”

“Wear garlic.” He smiled at Zayn’s expression. “But if you handle her right, she’d be a good client. What Hollis would spend on a wedding could probably buy Ecuador.” Liam looked at Zayn’s champagne glass. “Would you like another?”

“No, thanks.”

Liam drained his own glass, took his, and went to set them on a nearby busing tray.

“Why don’t you do weddings?” Zayn asked when he returned.

“It’s the hardest job in photography, except for maybe working in a war zone.” He smiled wryly. “When I was starting out, I managed to land a position as a staff photographer for a West Texas quarterly. Modern Cattleman. It’s not easy trying to get an ornery bull to pose for a picture. But I’d still rather shoot livestock than weddings.”

Zayn laughed. “When did you first take up photography?”

“I was ten. My mom sneaked me off to a class every Saturday, and told my dad I was working out to get ready for Pop Warner football.”

“He didn’t approve of photography?”

Liam shook his head. “He had definite ideas about how his sons should spend their time. Football, 4-H, working outside, all that was fine. But art, music… that was taking it too far. And he thought of photography as a hobby, but nothing a man should try to make a career of.”

“But you proved him wrong,” Zayn said.

His smile turned rueful. “It took a while. There were a couple of years we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.” He paused. “Later it worked out that I had to stay with Dad for a couple of months. That was when we finally made our peace with each other.”

“When you stayed with him, was it…” he hesitated.

Liam’s head bent over his. “Go on.”

“Was it because of the boat accident?” Seeing his quizzical smile, Zayn said uncomfortably, “My sister looked you up on the Internet.”

“Yeah, it was after that. When I got out of the hospital, I had to stay with someone while I healed up. Dad was living by himself in River Oaks, so it made the most sense for me to go there.”

“Is it hard for you to talk about the accident?”

“Not at all.”

“Can I ask how it happened?”

“I was fishing with my brother Jack in the Gulf. We were heading back to the marina at Galveston, stopped near a seaweed mat, and managed to hook a dorado. While my brother was reeling it in, I started the engine so we could follow the fish. Next thing I knew, I was in the water and there was fire and debris everywhere.”

“My God. What caused the explosion?”

“We’re pretty sure the bilge blower malfunctioned, and fumes built up near the engine.”

“That’s awful,” Zayn said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. That dorado was a five footer at least.” Liam paused, his gaze flickering to Zayn’s mouth as he smiled.

“What kind of injuries —” Zayn broke off. “Never mind, it’s not my business.”

“Blast lung, it’s called. When the shock waves from an explosion bruise the chest and lungs. For a while I couldn’t work up enough air to fill a party balloon.”

“You look pretty healthy now,” Zayn said.

“One hundred percent.” A wicked glint entered Liam’s eyes as he observed Zayn’s reaction. “Now that you’re all sympathetic… come dance with me.”

Zayn shook his head. “I’m not that sympathetic.” With an apologetic smile, he explained, “I never dance at an event I’ve planned. It’s sort of like a waiter seating himself at a table he’s supposed to be serving.”

“I had two operations for internal bleeding while I was in the hospital,” Liam informed Zayn gravely. “For almost a week, I couldn’t eat or talk because of the ventilator tube.” He gave Zayn a hopeful glance. “Now do you feel sorry enough to dance with me?”

Zayn shook his head again.

“Also,” Liam said, “the accident happened on my birthday.”

“It did not.”

“It did.”

Zayn lifted his gaze heavenward. “That’s so sad. That’s…” he paused, fighting his better instincts. “Okay,” Zayn found himself saying. “One dance.”

“I knew the birthday would do it,” he said in satisfaction.

“A quick dance. In the corner, whereas few people as possible can see.”

Liam took Zayn’s hand in a warm grip. He led Zayn past sparkling groves of potted trees and palms, back to a shadowy corner behind the orchestra. A sly, jazzy version of “They Can’t Take That Away from Me” floated through the air. The female singer’s voice had an appealing rough-sweet edge, like broken candy.

Liam turned Zayn to face him and took him in a practiced hold, one hand at Zayn’s waist. So this would be a real dance, not a side-to-side sway. That thought send chills down Zayn’s legs. Tentatively, Zayn placed his left hand on Liam’s shoulder. Liam pulled Zayn into a smooth pattern, his movements so assured that there could be no doubt about who was leading. As he lifted Zayn’s hand to guide him into a twirl, Zayn followed so easily that they didn’t miss a step. He heard Liam’s low laugh, a sound of pleasure at discovering a well-matched partner.

“What else are you good at?” Liam asked near his ear. “Besides dancing and wedding planning.”

“That’s about it.” After a moment, Zayn volunteered, “I can tie balloon animals. And I can whistle with my fingers.”

He felt the shape of Liam’s smile against his ear.

Zayn’s glasses had slipped down his nose, and he briefly broke their hold to push them back up to the bridge. he made a mental note to have the earpieces adjusted as soon as he got back to Houston. “What about you?” Zayn asked. “Do you have any hidden talents?”

“I can scissor dribble a basketball. And I know the entire NATO phonetic alphabet.”

“You mean like Alfa, Bravo, Charlie?”

“Exactly.”

“How did you learn it?”

“Scouting badge.”

“Spell my name,” Zayn commanded, testing him.

“Zulu-Alpha-Yankee-November.” He twirled Zayn again.

It seemed the air had turned into champagne, every breath filled with free-floating giddiness.

Zayn’s glasses slipped again, and he began to adjust them. “Zayn,” he said gently, “let me hold those for you. I’ll keep them in my pocket until we’re done.”

“I won’t be able to see where we’re going.”

“But I will.” Carefully Liam drew the glasses from his face, folded them, and slipped them into the breast pocket of his tux. The room turned into a blur of glitter and shadow. Zayn didn’t understand himself, why he had surrendered control to him so easily. Zayn stood there blind and exposed, his heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

Liam’s arms went around him. He took Zayn in the same hold as before, except now they were closer, their steps intimately constrained. This time he no longer followed the orchestra rhythm, only settled into a slow, relaxed pace.As Zayn breathed in the scent of him, burnished with sun and salt, he was confounded by the yearning to press his mouth against Liam’s neck, taste him.

“You’re nearsighted,” he heard Liam say on a questioning note.

Zayn nodded. “You’re the only thing I can see.”

Liam looked down at him, their noses nearly touching. “Good.” The word was scratchy-soft, like a cat’s tongue.

Zayn’s breath caught. He turned his face away deliberately. Zayn had to break the spell, or he was going to do something he would regret.

“Get ready,” He heard Liam say. “I’m going to dip you.”

Zayn clutched at him. “Don’t, you’ll drop me.”

“I’m not going to drop you.” He sounded amused.

Zayn stiffened as he felt his hand slide to the center of his back. “I’m serious. Liam —”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t think —”

“Here we go.” He lowered Zayn backward, supporting him securely. Zayn’s head tipped back, his vision filled with the twinkling firefly lights entwined in the tree branches. He gasped as Liam pulled Zayn upright with astonishing ease.

“Oh! You’re strong.”

“It has nothing to do with strength. It’s knowing how to do it.” Liam caught Zayn against him, closer than before. Now they were matched chest to chest. The moment was charged with something Zayn had never felt before, a soft voltaic heat. He was quiet, unable to make a sound if his life had depended on it. He closed his eyes. His senses were busy gathering Liam in, the hard strength of his body, the caress of his breath against Zayn’s ear.

All too soon, the song ended with a bittersweet flourish. Liam’s arms tightened. “Not yet,” he murmured. “One more.”

“I shouldn’t.”“Yes, you should.” He kept Zayn against him.

Another song started, the notes flaring softly. “What a Wonderful World” was a wedding staple. Zayn had heard it about a thousand times, interpreted every way imaginable. But every now and then an old song could pierce your heart as if you were hearing it for the first time.

As they danced, Zayn tried to gather every passing second for safekeeping, like pennies in a Mason jar. But soon he lost track, and there was only the two of them, wrapped in music and dream-colored darkness. Liam’s hand covered his, and he pulled Zayn’s arm around his neck. When Zayn didn’t resist, Liam reached for Zayn’s other wrist and pulled that one up, too.

Zayn had no idea what song played next. They stood locked in a subtle sway with his arms linked around Liam’s neck. Zayn let his fingers drift over the nape of Liam’s neck, where the thick hair was tapered in close layers. A feeling of unreality swept over him, and his imagination kept veering in the wrong directions… Zayn wondered what Liam would be like in intimacy, the ways he might move and breathe and tremble.

His head lowered until his jaw grazed Zayn’s cheek, the touch of shaven bristle delicious.

“I have to work,” Zayn managed to say. “What… what time is it?”

Zayn felt him lift his arm behind him, but apparently it was too dark to read his watch. “Must be close to midnight,” Liam said.

“I have to set up the after-party.”

“Where?”

“The swimming pool patio.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, you’ll distract me.” Realizing Zayn’s arms were still linked around Liam’s neck, he began to pull free.

“Probably.” Liam caught one of Zayn’s wrists and turned his mouth to the inside of his wrist. A shock of sweetness went through Zayn as he felt his lips touch the thin, tender skin, grazing the frantic thrum of a pulse. From inside his pocket, Liam withdrew Zayn’s glasses and gave them back to him.Zayn couldn’t stop staring at him. There was a crescent mark on the left side of his jaw, a thin white line amid the shadow of shaven bristle. And another mark near the outward corner of his left eye, a subtle parenthetical scar and a brown spot probably a birthmark on his neck which Zayn want to lick and taste. All those things together somehow the tiny imperfections made him even sexier.

Zayn wanted to touch the marks with his fingertips. He wanted to kiss them. But the desire was hemmed by the instinctive knowledge that this wasn’t a man he could ever be casual about. When you fell for a man like this, it would be an all-consuming bonfire. And afterward, your heart would resemble the contents of an ashtray.

“I’ll meet you when you finish setting up,” Liam told him.

“It may take a long time. I don’t want you to wait.”

“I’ve got all night.” His voice was soft. “And you’re how I want to spend it.”

Desperately, Zayn tried not to feel so flattered and overwhelmed. And he hurried away with the sense that he was running through a minefield.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take me to bed,” Zayn whispered.
> 
> He heard a quick, rough-sawn breath, and he sensed the conflict of desire and indecision.
> 
> “It’s okay,” Zayn said anxiously. “I know what I’m doing, I want you to stay —”
> 
> “You don’t have to —” Liam began.
> 
> “Yes. I have to.” Zayn kissed him again, excitement pulsing through him. “You have to,” he whispered against Liam’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Chapter 5! Hope you'll enjoy :)

“Well?” Sofia asked, removing her radio mike as Zayn reached her. How could she look so relaxed? How could everything seem normal when it was the opposite of normal?

“We danced,” he said distractedly. “Where’s my bag? What time is it?”

“Eleven twenty-three. Your bag is right here. Steven and Ell have already started the setup for the after-party. Louis helped the live band with all their speakers and power cords. Ree-Ann and the caterers are working on the pie buffet and the wine and coffee service. And the waitstaff is about to begin the reception cleanup.”

“Everything’s on schedule, then.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” Sofia smiled. “Where is Liam? Did you have a good time dancing?”

“Yes.” Zayn picked up his bag, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

“Why do you look nervous?”

“He wants to meet me later.”

“Tonight? That’s wonderful.” At his silence, Sofia asked, “Do you like him?”

“He’s… well, he’s…” he paused, floundering. “I can’t figure out the angle.”

“What angle?”

“Why he’s pretending to be interested in me.”

“Why do you think he’s pretending?”

Zayn scowled. “Come on, Sofia. Do I look like the kind of man that a man like Liam Payne would go for? Does that even make sense?”

“Ay, chinga.” Sofia did a face palm. “A big, sexy man wants to spend time with you. This is not a problem, Zayn. Stop worrying.”

“People do stupid things at weddings —” Zayn began.

“Yes. Go be one of them.”

“My God. You give the worst advice.”

“Then don’t ask me for it.”

“I didn’t!”

Sofia regarded him with fond concern. A sisterly gaze. “Jaan. You know how people always say ‘You’ll find someone when you stop looking’?”

“Yes.”

“I think you’ve gotten too good at not looking. You’ve decided not to look even if the right man happens to be standing right in front of you.” Taking Zayn’s shoulders, she turned him around and gave him a little push. “Go on. Don’t worry if it’s a mistake. Most mistakes turn out okay.”

“The worst advice,” Zayn repeated darkly, and left her.

He knew that Sofia was right: he had developed some bad habits since his catastrophic engagement. Solitude, avoidance, suspicion. But those coping mechanisms had warded off a hell of a lot of pain and damage. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of them, even if he wanted to.

By the time he reached the swimming pool patio, a couple of the bridesmaids had already changed into bikinis and were laughing and splashing in the pool. Noticing that no towels had been set out, Zayn went to El, who was arranging lounge furniture. “Towels?” he asked.

“Louis is assembling the towel stand.”

“That should have been done earlier.”

“I know. Sorry.” El made a little grimace. “He said he’ll have it out here in ten minutes. We didn’t expect anyone to be in the pool this early.”

“It’s fine. For now, go get a half-dozen towels and set them out on the lounge chairs.”

She nodded and began to leave.

“El,” Zayn said.

Pausing, she gave him an inquiring glance.

“It looks great out here,” he said. “Terrific job.”

A smile lit her face, and she went in search of the towels.

He went to the long table where the pie-and-coffee buffet had been artfully arranged, with a trio of white-jacketed servers lined up behind it. Three-level French wire stands held gold-crusted pies of every flavor imaginable… caramel apple, glazed peach, dense slabs of buttermilk custard, strawberries mounded over lofty cushions of cream cheese.

Nearby, Steven separated stacks of chairs and arranged them around cloth-draped tables in the adjoining courtyard. Zayn approached him, raising his voice to be heard over the band. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” Steven smiled. “All under control.”

“Any sign of scorpions?”

He shook his head. “We saturated the perimeter of the patio and courtyard with citrus oil.” He gave Zayn an intent glance. “How’s it going with you?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Glad to see you took my advice. About getting back in the game.”

Zayn frowned. “I’m not back in the game. I danced with someone, that’s all.”

“It’s progress,” he said laconically, and went for another stack of chairs.

When the setup was complete and guests were lining up at the pie buffet, he caught sight of a man sitting at one of the tables near the pool. It was Liam, relaxed and casual, the black tie hanging on either side of his neck. Giving hi, an expectant glance, Liam lifted a plate invitingly.

Zayn went to him. “What flavor is that?” he asked, looking at the perfect wedge of pie, topped with a thick layer of meringue.

“Lemon icebox,” Liam said. “I have two forks. Want to share?”

“I suppose as long as we sit way back in the courtyard, off to the side —”

“Where no one can see,” Liam finished for Zayn, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Are you trying to hide me, Zayn? Because I’m starting to feel cheap.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Of all the adjectives I might use for you, ‘cheap’ is not one of them.”

Liam followed him, plate in hand, as Zayn went into the courtyard and headed to a far-off table. “What adjectives would you use?” Liam asked from behind him.

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“A little encouragement never hurts.” He set down the plate and pulled out a chair to seat Zayn.

“Since I’m not available,” he said, “I have no intention of encouraging you. Although if I did… I’d say you were charming.”

Liam handed Zayn a fork, and they both dug into the slice of pie. The first bite was so good, Zayn closed his eyes to focus on it. A foamy mantle of meringue collapsed on his tongue, followed by a rich filling infused with saliva-spiking tartness. “This pie,” Zayn said, “tastes like one lemon fell in love with another lemon.”

“Or three lemons had a ménage.” Liam grinned at Zayn’s mock-reproving glance. “Usually it’s never sour enough for my taste,” he said, “but this is about right.”

When there was one bite of pie left, Liam picked up Zayn’s fork and fed him the last morsel. To his own astonishment, he opened his mouth and let Liam do the feeding. The gesture was at once casual and oddly intimate. Zayn chewed and swallowed with difficulty, his cheeks turning hot.

“I need something to drink,” He said, and at that very moment someone approached their table.

It was Sofia, carrying two wineglasses and a bottle of chilled white Bordeaux. Setting them on the table, she said brightly, “Steven said to tell you we’ve got everything covered, so you can take off now.”

Zayn frowned. “I’m the one who decides if I can take off, not Steven.”

“You’ve had less sleep than any of us —”

“I’m not tired.”

“— and there’s nothing left except to manage the cleanup crew. We can do that without you. Have a drink and enjoy yourself.” Sofia left before Zayn could reply.

Zayn shook his head as he watched her go. “I’m not as irrelevant as they seem to think.” Relaxing back in his chair, he said, “However… they did well today. And they probably can manage the cleanup without me.” He stared up at the sky, where the mottled white band of the Milky Way glowed against the plenitude of stars. “Look at that,” Zayn said. “You can’t see that from a city.”

Gesturing with his glass, Liam said, “See the dark lane running along the center?”

Zayn shook my head.

Liam moved his chair closer and pointed with his free hand. “There, where it looks like someone scribbled through it with a Sharpie.”

Following the line of his arm, Zayn saw the ragged stripe. “Yes. What is that?”

“It’s the Great Rift, a big cloud of molecular dust… a place where new stars are forming.”

Zayn stared in wonder. “Why haven’t I seen it before?”

“You have to be in the right place at the right time.”

They glanced at each other with a shared smile. The wash of starlight had turned the little crescent scar on his jaw a faint silver. Zayn wanted to trace it with his fingertip. He wanted to touch Liam’s handsome face and stroke the hard contours of his features.

He picked up his wineglass. “I’m going to turn in after I finish this,” he said, drinking deeply. “I’m beat.”

“Are you staying at the ranch, or at one of the hotels in town?”

“Here. There’s a little cabin along the drive to the back pasture. The trapper’s cabin, they call it.” Zayn made a face. “There’s a stuffed coon on the mantel. Hideous. I had to put a pillowcase over it.”

Liam smiled. “I’ll walk you over.”

Zayn hesitated. “Okay.”

The conversation turned quiet, halting, as Zayn drank the rest of his wine. It seemed as if some secondary, unspoken dialogue were filling up the space between the words.

Eventually, they stood and left the bottle and two empty glasses on the table.

As they walked on the side of the paved drive, Liam said, “I’d like to see you again, Zayn.”

“That’s… well, I’m flattered. Thank you. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve enjoyed your company. Let’s leave it at that.”

Liam was silent the rest of the way to the cabin. Their pace was leisurely, but Zayn’s thoughts raced, his brain cataloging a jumble of ideas about how to keep Liam at a distance.

They stopped at the front door. While he fumbled in his bag for the key, Liam spoke quietly. “Zayn… I don’t mean to presume. But I know what it feels like to want someone who doesn’t want me back.” A long pause. “And I don’t think that’s the case here.”

Shaken, Zayn managed to say, “I’m sorry for whatever I’ve said or done to give you that impression.”

“Then I’m wrong?” he asked gently.

“It’s… no… but it’s a matter of timing.”

Liam didn’t react, didn’t appear to believe that, and Jesus, why should he? Why would anyone? He was like something from a dream as he stood there in a wash of moonlight, sexy in his rumpled tux, his eyes midnight dark.

“Can we talk about it for a minute?” he asked.

Reluctantly, Zayn nodded and opened the door.

It was a one-room cabin, designer-y rustic with a handwoven rug and leather furniture and modern light fixtures that looked like crystal antlers. Zayn flipped on a switch that illuminated a sconce in the corner and set down his bag. Turning to face Liam, he saw him standing with his shoulder braced against the doorjamb. His lips parted as if he were about to say something, but he appeared to think better of it.

“What?” Zayn asked in a hushed voice.

“I know there are rules for this. I know I’m supposed to play it cool.” A rueful smile touched Liam’s lips. “But to hell with it. The fact is, I liked you the first moment I saw you. You are a beautiful, interesting man, and I want to see you again.” His tone softened. “You can say yes to that, can’t you?” Seeing Zayn’s uncertainty, he murmured, “Pick the time and place. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Pushing away from the door, Liam approached Zayn without haste. Zayn’s heart began to work in sharp jolts, and he went hot and cold with nerves. It had been too long since he had been alone with a man in a bedroom.

Studying Zayn intently, Liam touched the side of Zayn’s face, his hand curving beneath his jaw. He knew Liam could feel the way he was trembling.

“Should I leave?” he asked, and began to draw back.

“No.” Before Zayn could stop himself, he caught Liam’s wrist. A few minutes earlier, Zayn had been calculating how to push him away, and now the only thing he could think about was how to make him stay. His fingers curved around the thickness of bone and sinew, the strong rhythm of Liam’s pulse.

Zayn wanted him. Every part of him wanted Liam. They were alone, and the rest of the world was far away, and Zayn knew somehow that if he slept with him, it would be extraordinary.

To a man who’d lived twenty-four years of ordinary, one night with a man like this didn’t seem too much to ask.

Zayn pulled Liam’s hand to his waist, and he stood on his toes, deliberately molding his body against Liam’s, and Liam was warm and sturdy, his arms anchoring Zayn firmly. He began to kiss Zayn slow and deep, as if the world were about to end, as if it were the last minute of the last hour of the last day. The things he did with his mouth, his tongue… it was like a conversation, like sex, the way he found what Zayn wanted and gave it to him. Slowly Liam coaxed his tongue against Zayn’s plumped lips, asking for permission. Who the hell was Zayn to deny that? So he parted his Lips when Liam swallowed his whole mouth in to his, at the same time swallowing Zayn’s moans as well. While Liam’s tongue exploring every inch he could reached out Zayn curled his body in to Liam’s just as he curled up his one arm around Liam’s shoulders and other hand twirling around Liam’s hair. There was more pleasure in that kiss than in any act of physical intimacy he had ever known.

After drawing his mouth away, Liam cupped Zayn’s head to his shoulder. They stayed like that for a hard-breathing minute. Zayn was dismantled, everything inside him thrown into chaos. All he knew was that he had to be close to him, he had to feel his skin. Zayn grasped the lapels of his tux jacket, pushing them back. Liam stripped off the garment and dropped it to the floor. Without hesitation, he gripped Zayn head back and his mouth found Zayn’s again, ardent and intent, as if he were feeding on something delicious. Somewhere in the midst of all those kisses, he reached down to Zayn’s bottom, cupping his ass against a ridge of hard, impatient flesh of Liam’s clothed dick. The need sharpened until it seemed Zayn would die of not having him. Nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing ever would again.

You had to run with a feeling like that, all the way to sunrise.

“Take me to bed,” Zayn whispered.

He heard a quick, rough-sawn breath, and he sensed the conflict of desire and indecision.

“It’s okay,” Zayn said anxiously. “I know what I’m doing, I want you to stay —”

“You don’t have to —” Liam began.

“Yes. I have to.” Zayn kissed him again, excitement pulsing through him. “You have to,” he whispered against Liam’s lips.

Liam responded voraciously, caught up in the heat just as he was, he grabbed his ass and lifted him in to his arms so Zayn can curl his legs around Liam’s middle. Liam held Zayn as he sought to make the fit between them even closer, tighter. He Slowly walked toward the bed still carrying Zayn in his arms, without breaking the kiss. He slowly lowered Zayn on to the bed staring at his eyes. “So Beautiful” Liam murmured as he began to undress Zayn, and himself, clothes littering the floor in a trail to the bed. The light was switched off, the darkness relieved only by the starlight sifting through the mesh of the window blinds.

Zayn pulled back the covers and lay on the mattress, shaking from head to toe. Liam lowered over him, the feel of hair-roughened limbs stimulating Zayn’s skin into excruciating sensitivity. Zayn felt the hot whisk of his breath against his throat.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Zayn heard him say hoarsely. “No matter what, I’ll stop if you decide —”

“I know.”

“I want you to understand —”

“I understand.” he pulled Liam down to him.

Nothing was real in that quiet room. Things were being done to Zayn, and by him, in an ecstasy of sexual greed that he knew he would be shamed by later. Liam's mouth was at his nipples, his tongue articulating delicate circles until the tip budded, and he began to lap and tug until the pleasure went singing to the quick of Zayn’s body. He gripped Liam’s shoulders, the tough muscle of his back, massaging blindly.

Skilled and sure, his fingers teased along the insides of Zayn’s thighs, coaxing them to part. The pad of his thumb brushed against his hole so tender that he cried out, his hips lifting. His finger slid inside Zayn, caressing deep into a frantic wet pulse. His body tightened to hold the sensation, drawing the pleasure inward. He gently reached to touch Zayn’s shaft which was leaking precome on his stomach, waiting for attention. Liam’s thumb softly touched the head of his cock slowly working his hand up and down. “Uh Liam-God…” He shuddered incoherently, he couldn’t get a word out of his mouth. “Shhh... I got you baby, I got you” Liam whispered to his neck kissing the junction between his neck and shoulders. 

His weight slid over Zayn, his legs spreading Zayn’s, and he gasped out a few words… we had no protection, we needed to use something… Liam reassured him with a hoarse murmur, reaching over to the bedside table for his wallet, which Zayn hadn’t even been aware of him setting there. He heard the rip of a plastic packet. Momentarily distracted, Zayn wondered when that had happened, how Liam had managed —

Zayn’s thoughts imploded as he felt the pressure of him working slowly, circling intimately. Soft “ah...ah...ah” sounds emerged from Zayn, gasping for air. Liam entered him in a low, thick slide, sensation blooming within sensation, hot and sweet and maddening. A cry stirred in Zayn’s throat.

Liam nuzzled at Zayn’s ear. “Shhhh…” He slid an arm beneath Zayn’s hips, pulling them high. Every thrust was a full-bodied caress, the hair on Liam’s chest teasing Zayn’s nipples. Zayn had never felt so much at once, raw sensation eliding the spaces between every heartbeat and breath until he was blind and silent.

The sound of bed banging to the wall and Liam’s grunts with the hard slapping of the skin contact was the only sound in the air. The release wrung pleasure from every muscle, tightening until he shuddered in long, liquescent spasms. Liam held him tightly, breathing in rough gasps as he reached the pinnacle. He kissed his neck and shoulders, his hands moving over Zayn gently. His fingers traversed Zayn’s stomach, down between his legs to the verge of their joined flesh adding another finger with the rhythmic pace they had. He felt Liam caressing intimately his cock, teasing around the tip.” Oh god…oh god... Liam. Fuck...” Moaning in astonishment, Zayn sank into an erotic darkness where there was no thought, no past, no future, only pleasure that made him twist in helpless ecstasy.

Zayn awakened alone in the morning, aware of the slight aches left by another body’s intrusion into his, the faint whisker burns on skin that had been kissed and kissed, the tender pulls of inner thighs.

He wasn’t sure what to think about what he’d done.

Liam had said little when he’d left, other than the obligatory, “I’ll call you.” A promise that no one ever kept.

He reminded himself that he had the right to sleep with someone if he wanted to, even a stranger. No judgments were necessary. No one had to feel bad.

Still… Zayn felt as if something had been taken from him, and he didn’t know what it was or how to regain it. he felt as if he would never be the same again.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Zayn used the bedsheet to blot his eyes as tears threatened to well up.

He pressed hard against his eyes. “You’re okay,” He whispered aloud. “Everything’s okay.”

As Zayn huddled back into the damp pillow, he remembered how, when he was in grade school, they had studied butterflies for a science project. Samples of a butterfly’s wing under a microscope had revealed that it was covered with tiny scales like feathers or roof shingles.

If you touched a butterfly’s wing, the teacher had said, it would knock off some of the scales and they would never grow back. Some butterflies had clear patches on their wings where you could see right through the membrane. But even with some lost scales, a butterfly would still be able to fly after you let it go.

It would get along just fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that night, as he sat in bed reading, his cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand.
> 
> Zayn stopped breathing as he saw Liam’s caller ID.
> 
> My God. Liam had meant it when he’d said he would call.

During the long drive home, Sofia and Zayn talked about the wedding and rehashed every detail. Zayn did his best to keep the mood light, forcing himself to laugh from time to time. When Sofia asked casually if anything had happened with Liam Payne, he replied, “No, but I gave him my number. He might call sometime.” he could tell by her quick, speculative glance that she didn’t entirely believe him.

After Sofia plugged her phone into the car audio and started a jaunty Tejano song, Zayn let himself think about the previous night and tried to figure out why he felt so guilty and worried. Probably because having a one-night stand was so unlike him… except that since he’d done it, it was like him.

The new him.

Feeling a stirring of panic, Zayn pushed it back down.

He thought back to when he’d first met Brian, trying to remember how long he’d waited until sleeping with him. Two months, at least. Zayn had been cautious about intimacy, having no desire to careen from one man to the next the way his mother had. Sex would be on his terms, within the margins that he established. Brian had been fine with that, patient, willing to wait until he was ready.

They had been introduced by mutual friends at a cocktail party held in the outdoor sculpture garden at the Met. They had been instantly comfortable with each other, so naturally in tune that their friends had laughingly accused them of already knowing each other. They’d both been twenty at the time, full of ambition and energy, both of them having just moved from other places, Zayn from Dallas, Brian from Boston.

It had been the happiest time of his life, that first year in New York, a city that had infused him with the perpetual feeling that something great, or at least interesting, was just around the corner. Having been accustomed to the lazy, sun struck pace of Texas, where the heat forced everyone to ration their energy, He had been galvanized by Manhattan’s cool autumn vitality. You belong here, the city seemed to say, with the honking of canary-colored taxicabs and the screeching and grinding of construction equipment, the sounds of street musicians and bars and rattling subways… all of it meant that He was in a place where things were happening.

It had been easy to find friends, a group of women who filled their spare time with volunteer work, clubs, lessons in things like foreign languages, dancing, tennis. The Manhattan's passion for self-improvement had been contagious – soon he’d found himself signing up for clubs and lessons, trying to make every minute of the day purposeful.

In retrospect, he had to wonder how much of his falling in love with New York had been the adjuvant to falling in love with Brian. Had he met Brian in another place, he wasn’t certain that they would have lasted as long as they had. Brian had been a good lover, considerate in bed, but his Wall Street job had entailed sixteen-hour workdays and preoccupations with things such as the upcoming nonfarm payroll numbers or what was happening on Bloomberg at one a.m. It had made him perpetually tired and distracted. He had used alcohol to relieve the stress, and that hadn’t exactly helped their love life. But even at the beginning of their relationship, Zayn had never experienced anything with Brian that even remotely resembled what had happened last night.

Zayn had been like an entirely different person with Liam. But he wasn’t ready to be someone new – he’d grown too accustomed to being the man Brian Palomar had jilted at the altar. If he let go of that identity, he wasn’t sure what would happen. He was afraid to imagine the possibilities. All he knew was that no man would ever hurt him the way Brian had, and he was the only one who could protect himself from that.

Later that night, as he sat in bed reading, his cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand.

Zayn stopped breathing as he saw Liam’s caller ID.

My God. Liam had meant it when he’d said he would call.

Zayn’s heart throbbed against a painful tightness, as if it had been wrapped in a million rubber bands. Covering his ears with his hands, closing his eyes, he didn’t respond to the insistent ringtone. He waited it out. Zayn couldn’t talk to him – he wouldn’t know what in the hell to say. He knew Liam in the most intimate way possible, yet he didn’t know him at all.

As wildly pleasurable as it had been to sleep with Liam, Zayn didn’t want it to happen again. He didn’t have to have a reason, did he? No. He didn’t owe him any explanations. He didn’t even have to explain it to himself.

The phone went silent. The tiny screen flashed a message that a voice mail had been left.

Ignore it, Zayn told myself. He picked up the book he’d been reading and focused blindly on a page. After a couple of minutes, He realized that he’d read the same page three times without comprehending a word.

Exasperated, Zayn tossed the book aside and grabbed the phone.

His toes curled beneath the covers as he heard his message, that unhurried drawl seeming to sink inside him and dissolve like hot sugar. 

“Zayn, it’s Liam. I wanted to find out how your drive back to Houston was.” A pause. “I thought about you all day. Give me a call when you feel like it. Or I’ll try you again later.” Another pause. “Talk to you soon.”

Blood heat had turned his cheeks red and prickly. He set the phone back on the nightstand.

The adult thing, He reflected, would be to call Liam back, talk to him in a calm and reasonable manner, and tell him that he wasn’t interested in seeing him again. It’s just not going to click for him, he could say.

But Zayn wasn’t going to do that. he was going to ignore Liam until he went away, because the thought of talking to him made him break out in a nervous sweat.

The phone rang again, and Zayn stared at it in disbelief. Was he calling again? This was going to get annoying, fast. As he looked at the caller ID, however, he saw that it was his best friend from New York, Jasmine, who was the fashion director of a major fashion magazine. She was a friend and a mentor, a woman of forty who seemed to do everything well and was never afraid to be opinionated. And her opinions were usually right.

Style was religion to Jasmine. She had the rare gift of translating street trends, shopping blogs, Internet chatter, and cultural influence into a clear-eyed assessment of what was happening in fashion and what was coming around the corner. From her friends, Jasmine demanded and gave absolute loyalty, friendship being the only thing she valued nearly as much as style. She had tried to stop Zayn from leaving New York, promising to use her connections to secure him a job as a special fashion correspondent for a local entertainment show or possibly doing a retail collaboration with some bridal designer who wanted to tap into a more affordable market.

Zayn had appreciated Jasmine’s efforts to help, but he had refused. He’d felt defeated and tired, and he’d needed a break from fashion. Most of all, he had wanted to live with his newfound sister and form a relationship with her. He had wanted to have someone in his life whom he was related to. And part of him had liked the way Sofia looked up to him – Zayn had needed that. Jasmine hadn’t necessarily understood, but she had relented and backed off, after telling Zayn that someday she would find a way to lure him back to New York.

“Jazz,” Zayn exclaimed, delighted. “How are you?”

“Sweetie. Do you have time to talk?”

“Yes, I —”

“Great. Listen, I’m about to run to a party, but I have some news that can’t wait. Here’s the thing: You know who David Tutera is.”

“Of course.”

Zayn had been in awe of Tutera since he’d been in design school. The legendary celebrity wedding planner was also a mega successful bridal fashion designer, author, and host of a cable show titled Rock the Wedding. The show, based in L.A., was an effervescent mix of style, sentiment, and drama. Every episode featured Tutera and his team creating a dream wedding for the couple who didn’t have the budget or the vision to do it on their own.

 

“Tutera and his producers,” Jazz continued, “are planning to do a spin-off series based in Manhattan.”

“Isn’t that going to cause wedding show fatigue?” Zayn asked. “I mean, how many people are willing to watch?”

“If there’s a limit, they haven’t found it yet. The cable channel is airing reruns of Tutera’s show all the time, and the ratings are huge. So the thinking is, Tutera wants to mentor someone. Preferably a man. He’s going to create a star. Whoever he decides on will be the host of Rock the Wedding: NYC, and Tutera will make guest appearances on the show until it’s established.” Jazz paused. “Do you get where this is going, Zayn?”

“You think I should give it a shot?” Zayn asked in bewilderment.

“It’s perfect for you. I still remember those interviews you did during Bridal Week – you looked amazing on camera, and you had so much personality —”

“Thanks, but Jazz… there’s no way they would pick someone with so little experience. Besides —”

“You can’t assume that. You don’t know what they’re looking for. They may not even know what they’re looking for. I’m going to put together a video of various things you did on camera, and you’re going to send me your résumé and a decent head shot, and I’ll make sure David Tutera’s producers take a look at everything. If they’re interested, they’ll fly you up here to talk in person, so if nothing else, you’ll get a free trip out of it and you can see me.”

Zayn smiled. “Okay. For that reason alone, I’ll give it a try.”

“Wonderful. Now, tell me quickly – everyone doing okay there? Your sister?”

“Yes, she’s —”

“My ride’s here. Let me call you later.”

“Okay, Jazz. Take care of —”

The call ended. Zayn looked down at his phone, still bemused by the rapid-fire conversation. “And Liam said I talked fast,” he said aloud.

For the next week and a half, Zayn received two more calls and several texts from Liam, the relaxed tone of his messages turning into perplexed impatience. Clearly Liam understood he was avoiding him, but Liam didn’t give up. He even tried the event-planning studio’s number and left a message that, although innocuous, provoked considerable interest from Zayn’s employees. Sofia quieted them in a deliberately light, amused tone, telling them that whether or not he was going out with Liam Payne, it was no one’s business but his. After work, however, she cornered Zayn in the kitchen and said, “You’re not yourself, jaan. You’ve been acting strange ever since the Kendrick wedding. Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Zayn said quickly, “everything’s fine.”

“Then why have you been having an OCD meltdown?”

“I’ve been doing a little cleaning and reorganizing,” he said defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You put all the takeout menus in color-coded folders, and stacked all the magazines in order of their dates. Even for you, that’s too much.”

“I just want everything to be under control.” Uneasily, Zayn opened a nearby drawer and began to rearrange the utensils. Sofia was silent, waiting patiently while he made certain that all the spatulas were in one compartment and slotted spoons were in another. “Actually,” he said in a rush, fumbling with a set of measuring spoons, “I slept with Liam Payne the night of the wedding, and now he wants to go out with me, but I don’t want to see him again and I can’t make myself tell him, so I’ve been avoiding his calls and hoping he’ll just go away.”

“Why do you want him to go away?” she asked in concern. “Did you have a bad time with him?”

“No,” He said, relieved at being able to talk about it. “Oh my God, it was so amazing that I think I lost brain cells, but I shouldn’t have done it in the first place, and I really wish I hadn’t, because now I feel weird, like I have emotional jet lag or something. I can’t catch up to myself. And I’m embarrassed every time I think about how I jumped into bed with him like that.”

“He’s not embarrassed,” Sofia pointed out. “Why should you be?”

He gave her a dark glance. “He’s not just a man. Just because I don’t agree with the double standard doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“In this situation,” Sofia said gently, “I think the only person carrying around a double standard is you.” Closing the utensil drawer, she turned Zayn to face her. “Call him tonight,” she said, “and tell him yes or no. Stop torturing yourself. And him.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll text him.”

“Talking is better.”

“No, it has to be texting so there won’t be any paraverbals.”

“What are paraverbals?”

“All the things you communicate besides the words,” Zayn said. “Like the tone of your voice, or the pauses, or how fast or slow you talk.”

“You mean the things that help to convey the truth.”

“Exactly.”

“You could just be honest with him,” she suggested.

“I’d rather text.”

Before Zayn went to sleep, he opened the messages on his phone and forced himself to read Liam’s most recent text.

Why aren’t you answering?

Gripping the phone tightly, Zayn told himself that he was being ridiculous. He had to deal with the situation.

I’ve been busy, he texted back.

His reply appeared with startling immediacy.

Let’s talk.

After a long silence, in which he was no doubt trying to figure out how to reply, Zayn added,

No possibility of this going anywhere.

Why not?

It was perfect for one night. No regrets. But he’s not interested in anything more.

After a few minutes had passed, it was clear that there would be no answer.

Zayn spent the rest of the night struggling to fall asleep, battling his own thoughts.

Pillow’s too flat. Covers are too hot. Maybe he need some herb tea… a glass of wine… melatonin… more reading… he should try deep breathing… he need to find a nature-sounds app… a late-night show… no, stop thinking, stop. Is three o’clock too early to get up? maybe he should wait till four… 

He finally started to doze just as the alarm sounded. Groaning, he crawled out of bed. After a long shower, he pulled on some leggings and a roomy knit tunic and went down to the kitchen.

Sofia and he lived in a partially renovated building, a former cigar factory in Montrose. They both loved the eccentric neighborhood, which was filled with art galleries, upmarket boutiques, and quirky restaurants. He had bought the warehouse at a steal, owing to its ramshackle condition. So far they had converted the ground floor into a spacious studio with exposed brick walls and endless rows of multipaned factory windows. The main-floor plan included an open kitchen with granite countertops, a central seating area anchored by an electric-blue sectional sofa, and a design section with an idea wall and tables piled with books, swatches, trims, and samples. His bedroom was on the second floor, and Sofia’s was on the third floor.

“Good morning,” his sister said brightly. Zayn flinched at her cheery tone.

“God. Please. Turn it down a notch.”

“The light?” she asked, reaching for the dimmer.

“No, the perkiness.”

Looking concerned, Sofia poured a cup of coffee and gave it to Zayn. “You didn’t sleep well?”

“No.” he stirred sweetener and creamer into the coffee. “I finally texted Liam back last night.”

“And?”

“I was blunt. I said I wasn’t interested in seeing him again. He didn’t reply.” He shrugged and sighed. “I’m relieved. I should have done it a few days ago. Thank God I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“You’re sure it was the right decision?”

“Without a doubt. Maybe I would have gotten another night of great sex, but I’m not interested in being some rich guy’s cheap entertainment.”

“Someday you’ll run into him,” Sofia said. “Another wedding, or some other event —”

“Yes, but by then it won’t matter. He’ll have moved on. And we’ll both behave like grown-ups.”

“Your preverbals seem worried,” Sofia said. “What can I do, jaan?”

Zayn didn’t know what would have become of his life without Sofia in it. Smiling, he leaned sideways so their heads touched briefly. “If I ever get arrested,” he said, “you will be my one phone call. Bail me out – that’s what you can do.”

“If you ever get arrested,” Sofia said, “I’ll already be in jail as your accomplice.”

That morning, El came to the studio at her usual time of nine o’clock. It was a mark of her innate tact that although she obviously noticed Zayn’s unkempt condition, she said nothing, only went to take care of e-mails and answering machine messages. However, Steven showed no such reticence when he walked in a few minutes later..

“What’s the matter?” he asked, giving me an appalled glance as Zayn sat with Sofia on the blue sectional.

“Nothing,” he said curtly.

“Then why are you wearing a Boy Scout tent?”

Before Zayn could reply, Sofia retorted, “Don’t you dare criticize how Zayn looks!”

Steven inquired acidly, “So you like what he’s wearing?”

“Of course not,” Sofia said. “But if I didn’t say anything about it, you shouldn’t either.”

“Thanks, Sofia,” Zayn said dryly. He sent Steven a warning glance. “I had a rough night. Today is not a good day to push me.”

“Zayn,” El called urgently from her desk in the design area, “we’ve gotten an e-mail from Hollis Warner’s social secretary. You’ve been invited to a private party at the Warner mansion on Saturday. A black tie fund-raiser. It’s their big annual contemporary art auction and dinner.”

Sofia let out a little yelp of excitement.

The atmosphere in the studio seemed instantly diluted – Zayn’s lungs had to work harder to obtain the necessary amount of oxygen. He strove to sound calm. “Did she mention a plus-one? Because I’d like for Sofia to come with me.”

“There was no mention of that,” El said. “If you’d like me to call and ask —”.

“No, don’t,” Sofia said instantly. “Let’s not be pushy. Hollis may have a reason for inviting just you.”

“She probably does,” Steven said. “But that’s irrelevant.”

“Why?” Sofia, El, and Zayn all asked at the same time.

“Because the Warners are out of our league. If the wedding is scaled bigger than Amspacher-Kendrick, which Hollis told you it would be, we haven’t developed our vendors and suppliers list enough to handle it. The big event planners in Houston and Dallas have the best professionals and venues all sewn up with exclusive contracts. We’re still relatively new on the scene.”

“Working for Hollis would put us on the fast track,” Zayn pointed out.

“It’s a bargain with the devil. She’ll expect you to cut our percentage to the bone in return for the prestige of having her as a client. This won’t help the business, Zayn. It’s more than we can handle right now. We need to keep growing by focusing on smaller projects.”

“I’m not going to let anyone take advantage of us,” Zayn said. “But I’m definitely going to the party. No matter what happens, it’s an opportunity to make some great contacts.”

He looked sardonic. “What are you planning to wear to this black-tie event?”

“My formal suit, of course.”

“The brown one you wore to the hospital fund-raiser? The one with the small superman logo? No, you’re not going to the Warner mansion in that.” Steven stood and began to hunt for his keys and wallet.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asked.

“I’m taking you to Neiman’s. We have to find something decent off-the-rack and get it altered by Friday.”

“I’m not spending money on a new suit when I’ve already got a perfectly good one,” he protested.

“Look, if you want to dress like a parade float on your own time, it’s your business. But when you’re networking and trying to land a high-profile client, it becomes my business. Your appearance reflects on the studio. And your personal taste is a tragic misuse of some fine genetic endowments.”

Zayn directed his outraged gaze from him to Sofia and El, silently commanding them to back him up. To his disgust, Sofia had suddenly become preoccupied with checking her text messages, and El was intently straightening the piles of magazines on the coffee table.

“Okay,” Zayn muttered, “I’ll get a new suit.”

“And a new hairstyle. Because that one does you no favors.”

“I think he’s right,” Sofia ventured before Zayn could reply. “You wear it in an updo all the time.”

“Every time I get my hair cut, it ends up looking like a Darth Vader helmet.”

Ignoring his protests, Steven spoke to Sofia. “Call Salon One and ask them to squeeze in an appointment for Zayn. If they give you any problems, remind them that they owe us a favor after we found a last-minute caterer for the owner’s wedding. Also call Zayn’s optometrist for a contact lens fitting.”

“No way,” Zayn said. “No contacts. I have a problem with touching my eyeballs.”

“That’s the least of your problems.” Steven found his keys. “Come on.”

“Wait,” Sofia exclaimed, pulling something from a drawer. She hurried to hand it to Steven. “In case you need a backup,” she said.

“Is that the studio credit card?” Zayn asked indignantly. “That’s only supposed to be used in case of emergency.”

Steven gave him an assessing glance. “This qualifies.”

As Zayn picked up his bag and Steven ushered him to the front door, Sofia called out after them, “Don’t let him in the dressing room, Zayn. Even if he’s not gay.”

Zayn hated trying on clothes, hated it, hated it.

More than anything, he despised the department store dressing room. The three-way mirror that magnified every little indulgence and unwanted pound. The fluorescent lighting that gave him the complexion of a bridge troll. The way the salesgirl trilled, “How’s everything working out for you?” right at the moment he was tangled up in a garment that had turned into a straitjacket.

When trying on clothes was unavoidable, a dressing room at Neiman Marcus ranked above all others. From Zayn’s perspective, however, deciding on a favorite department store dressing room was about as appealing as choosing his favorite way to be executed.

The Neiman Marcus dressing room was spacious and beautifully decorated, with lit columns on either side of the full-length mirrors and dimmable ceiling lights.

The Neiman Marcus dressing room was spacious and beautifully decorated, with lit columns on either side of the full-length mirrors and dimmable ceiling lights.  
“Stop,” Steven said, carrying in a half-dozen suits he had pulled from the racks as we walked through the premier designer apparel.

 

“Stop what?” Zayn hung up the two black shirts he had picked out in defiance of Steven’s objections.

“Stop looking like one of those caged puppies on the SPCA commercials.”

“I can’t help it. That mirror with the pedestal in front of it makes me feel threatened and depressed, and I haven’t even tried anything on yet.”

Steven took a few garments from a helpful salesman, closed the door, and hung them on the double wall rack. “The person in that mirror is not your adversary.”

“No, at the moment that would be you.”

Steven grinned. “Start trying on suits.” He took the suits he had chosen and began to walk out.

“Why are you taking those away?”

“Because you’re not wearing brown to Hollis Warner’s party.”

“Brown is charming. It’s a pure color.”

“In New York. In Houston, color is a power color.” The door closed behind Steven..

The salesman brought a pair of black shining shoes and left Zayn in privacy. He undressed as far as possible from the three-way mirror, he put on his black slacks and black high neck jersey and the black jacket, and twisted it around to his front. The slacks, with its boning and angled seaming, hoisted his thighs and bum to shameless prominence.

Zayn hesitates before saying, “Come in, I need help with the comments.”

Steven entered the room and gave Zayn an assessing glance. “Not bad.” Standing behind him, he touched Zayn’s perfectly hugged middle and turned him around, to face Steven.

“You look dashing Zayn. Anyone can loose their shit in you.” With a scowled face Zayn tottered toward the mirror, he struggled to breathe. “Too tight.” Zayn paused. “Could you get me the next size up?”

Steven lifted the tag dangling from one armhole and frowned as he read it. “This is the largest size it comes in.”

“I’m leaving now,” Zayn informed him.

Steven stopped him abruptly. “You look perfect Zayn.”

“No I’m not. I’m going to wear the suit I already have.”

“It’s gone.”

“What do you mean, it’s gone?”

“Right after we left, I texted Sofia and told her to get rid of it while you were out. You’re at the point of no return.”

Zayn scowled. “I’m going to kill you by stabbing with this shoe front. And I’m going to kill Sofia with the other one.”

“Now get change.” Steven left closing the door behind him.

“But the color is too bright. It competes with my hair.”

“It’s perfect with your hair.”

He left the dressing room while I fumed and removing his cloths.

“I’ve always wanted to ask you this,” Zayn said. “Did Sofia really try on clothes in front of you?”

“Yes,” Steven replied from the other side of the door. “But she wasn’t naked, she was wearing underwear.” After a pause, he added in a preoccupied tone, “A matched set. Black lace.”

“Are you interested in her?” Zayn asked, slipping his hands through the armholes and pulling up the rest of the dress. At his silence, Zayn said, “Never mind, I know you are.” he paused. “And it’s not all one-sided.”

His tone was decidedly less casual as he asked, “Is that opinion or confirmed fact?”

“Opinion.”

“Even if I were interested in her, I never mix work with my personal life.”

“But if you —”

“I’m not discussing Sofia with you. Are you almost done?”

“Yeah” He wriggled to take the slacks off.

“We’ll have alterations with your hair,” Steven said decisively. “Face like yours should be flaunted.”

“huh.” Zayn pulled the jersey over his head.

“It’s not me.” Zayn huffed while putting his shirt back on. “I’m not comfortable in something that makes me look so…”

“Confident? Sexy? A dress that encourages people to look at you? Zayn… nothing interesting ever happens to people who stay in their comfort zones all the time.”

“Having gone outside my comfort zone in the past, I can say with authority that it’s an overrated experience.”

“All the same… you’re never going to get what you want if you refuse to change. And we’re not even talking big changes here. These are clothes, Zayn. It’s minor stuff.”

“Then why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“Because I’m tired of seeing you dressed like a Viking nanny. And so is everyone else. You’re the last person on the planet who should be hiding his figure. Let’s buy you this nice suit, and maybe some jeans and a couple of tees. And a jacket…”

In no time at all, Steven had enlisted the help of two salesmen who proceeded to fill the dressing room racks with a rainbow of garments. The three of them informed him that he had been buying bigger sizes than he needed, in styles that were the opposite of what someone with his body shape should wear. By the time Steven and Zayn left Neiman Marcus, He had bought black leather jacket, one ripped jeans, a couple of tees, slim-fitting black pants, a plum-colored leather jacket, an open peach cardigan, and four pairs of shoes. The outfits were sleek and simple, with waist-defining silhouettes.

Aside from making a hefty down payment on the warehouse in Montrose, Zayn had never dropped so much money at one time in his life.

“Your new wardrobe is smoking hot,” Steven informed him as they left the store with bags in each hand.

“So is my credit card.”

He checked his messages. “We’re going to the optometrist now. After that, the salon.”

“Just out of curiosity, Steven… is there anything about my personal style that you do like?”

“Your eyebrows aren’t bad. And you have nice teeth. Besides I’ve never seen such long lashes even in fake eye lashes” As they drove away from the Galleria, Steven asked casually, “Are you ever going to tell me what happened with Liam Payne at the Styles’s wedding?”

“Nothing happened.”

“If that were true, you would have told me right away. But you haven’t said anything for a week and a half, which means something happened.”

“Okay,” Zayn admitted. “You’re right. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine by me.” Steven found a soft-rock station on the radio and adjusted the volume.

After a couple of minutes, Zayn burst out, “I slept with him.”

“Did you use protection?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

After an uncomfortable hesitation, he admitted, “Yes.”

Steven lifted one hand from the wheel to high-five Zayn.

“Wow,” Zayn muttered, returning the high five. “No lectures about one-night stands?”

“Of course not. As long as you use a condom, there’s nothing wrong with commitment-free pleasure. That being said, I wouldn’t advise using someone as a fuck-buddy. One of you always starts to have feelings. Expectations. Eventually someone gets hurt. So after the one-night stand, it’s better to pull the plug right away.”

“What if the other person asks to see you again?”

“I’m not a Magic Eight Ball.”

“You’re smart about these things,” Zayn insisted. “Tell me – is there any chance of a relationship after you’ve had a one-night stand?”

Steven gave him a wry sideways glance. “Most of the time, a one-night stand means you’ve both already decided it wasn’t going to be serious in the first place.”

It was nine o’clock before Steven finally brought him back home. The stylist at Salon One had worked diligently on his hair for three hours, subjecting it to a regimen of relaxing chemicals, creams, and serums, heating and drying in between each step. She had proceeded to cut off one inches, leaving him with a lob that around his neck in loose, silky waves. The salon’s cosmetician had done a mani-pedi, and while the polish was drying, she had shown him how to apply light makeup. Zayn had subsequently bought a small bag of cosmetics that had cost as much as his monthly car payment.

As it turned out, the salon visit was worth every penny. Steven, who had decided to have a rejuvenating facial during the last hour of his treatments, emerged just as his makeup was finished. His reaction was priceless. His jaw dropped, and he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“My God. Who the hell are you?”

Zayn rolled his eyes and blushed, but Steven persisted, walking a full circle around him, finally pulling him into his arms for a rare embrace. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured. “Now own it.”

Later, as they walked into the studio with a multitude of bags, Sofia came downstairs from her third-floor room. She was already dressed in pajamas and fuzzy slippers, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She gave me a questioning look and shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“We’re bankrupt,” Zayn informed her with a grin. “I spent all our money on hair and clothes.”

To his consternation, his sister’s eyes welled up. Erupting into a stream of fluid Spanish, she embraced him so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

“Is it bad?” Zayn asked.

She began to laugh through her tears. “No, no, you’re so beautiful, Zayn…So handsome”

Somehow, in the confusion of hugging and rejoicing, Sofia ended up kissing Steven on the cheek.

He went still at the innocent gesture, looking down at her with an odd, flummoxed expression. It lasted only a second before his face went carefully blank. Sofia didn’t seem to notice.

If Zayn had any doubts about whether Steven felt something for his sister, he knew what a Magic 8 Ball would have said:

Signs point to yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how's it? I would like to know if you guys adore the story as much as i did. thanks for the comments and kudos.   
> There will be  
>  *drum role playing*  
>  fantastic ziam intimate moments in next few chapters. hahaha hope you'll enjoy :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fine, Hollis. Really —”
> 
> She pulled him even farther across the treacherous floor. They passed a trio of women chatting and laughing and an elderly couple examining a sculpture. Hollis tugged him toward a photographer who stood in the corner taking candid shots of the old couple. “Shutterbug,” Hollis called out playfully, “look who I’ve got with me.”
> 
> “Hollis,” Zayn protested faintly.
> 
> Before the man lowered his camera, Zayn knew who he was. His whole body knew. he felt his presence instantly, even before he looked up into the eyes that had haunted him every night since they had met. Except that now they were as hard as onyx.
> 
> “Hi, Liam,” he managed to whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though i've posted yesterday i decided to post this one too because it's kinda shorter than the other chapters? I think this is shortest one and i hope this chapter will put everyone on edges. hahahaha I'm sorry but i couldn't help it though *winks*

The night of Hollis Warner’s art auction was humid and hot, the air pungent with wax myrtle and lantana. Zayn pulled up to a valet stand beside a parking area filled with luxury vehicles, and a uniformed attendant helped him from the car. He was wearing the black suit he changed at the shop, with earrings and the nose ring. Thanks to Sofia’s help with his hair and makeup, Zayn knew he had never looked better. It only confirmed when Steven gasped and hugged him tightly.

Live jazz drifted through the air like smoke as he walked into the Warner mansion, a southern colonial built on a two-acre lot in River Oaks. The home had been one of the original residences back when River Oaks had been established in the twenties. Hollis had nearly doubled the size of the historic building by adding a modern glass extension at the back, a showy but jarring combination. The outline of a huge white tent loomed behind the roof line.

A rush of chilled air surrounded him as he entered a spacious foyer with antique parquet floors. The mansion was already crowded, and the evening had just started. Assistant hostesses handed out catalogs of the artwork that would be up for auction later. “They’ll hold the dinner and auction in the tent¸” one of the hostesses told Zayn, “but right now the house is open for viewing the artwork. The catalog describes the auction items, and lists where they’re located.”

“Zayn!” Hollis appeared in a pink chiffon dress with a slim-fitting silhouette, the skirt a swirl of pale pink ostrich feathers. Her husband, David, a lean, attractive man with salt-and-pepper hair, accompanied her. Pressing an air kiss near Zayn’s cheek, Hollis enthused, “We’re going to have such fun tonight! My god, don’t you look gorgeous!” Glancing up at her husband, she prompted, “Sugar, tell Zayn what you just said when you saw him.”

He obliged without hesitation. “I said, ‘That black headed gal in the black suit is proof that God’s a man.’”

Zayn smiled. “Thank you for inviting me. What an incredible house this is.”

“I’ll show you the new addition,” Hollis told him. “All glass and granite. It took forever to get it right, but David supported me every step of the way.” She stroked her husband’s arm and beamed at him.

“Hollis loves to entertain more than anyone you’ll ever meet,” David Warner said. “She raises money for all kinds of charities. A woman like this deserves any kind of house she wants.”

“Sugar,” Hollis murmured, “Zayn’s the one who did that wedding for Anna and Ray’s son, Harry’s. I’m going to introduce him to Ryan tonight, so he can help push things along with him and Bethany.”

David looked at Zayn with new interest. “Glad to hear it. That was some shindig, the Styles wedding. Lotta fun. Wouldn’t mind doing something like that for Bethany.”

Wondering exactly what Hollis had meant by the phrase push things along, Zayn asked, “Has there been an official proposal yet?”

“No, Ryan’s trying to figure out a special way to pop the question. I told him you’d be here tonight to give him some ideas.”

“Whatever I can do to help.”

“We couldn’t have asked for a nicer young man for Bethany,” Hollis said. “Ryan’s an architect. Smart as a whip. His family, the Chases, are close kin to the Paynes. Ryan’s mama died young – so unfortunate – but his uncle Churchill looked after the family and made sure the kids got educations. And when Churchill passed on, the Chases were included in his will.” Hollis gave Zayn a significant glance as she continued. “Ryan could live off the interest of his trust fund and never work a day in his life.” She grasped his wrist with a clatter of multiple cocktail rings. “David, I’m going to tour Zayn around the house. You can do without me for a few minutes, can’t you?”

“I’ll try,” her husband said, and she winked at him before pulling Zayn away.

Hollis chatted with the ease of an accomplished hostess as she guided him through the house toward the modern addition. She stopped to show him some of the auction paintings displayed throughout the house, each lot numbered and accompanied by information about the artist. Along the way, Hollis texted Ryan to meet them in what she called “the skyroom.”

“He’s going to slip away from Bethany for a few minutes,” Hollis explained, “so he can talk to you without her. He wants the proposal to be a surprise, of course.”

“If he’d rather come to our Montrose studio,” Zayn said, “we could discuss it there. That might be easier and more private —”

“No, it’s better to take care of it tonight,” Hollis said. “Otherwise Ryan will drag his feet. You know how men are. Cuz you’re one of them too.”

Zayn smiled noncommittally, hoping that Hollis wasn’t trying to push Ryan into proposing. “Have he and Bethany been dating for a while?” he asked as they entered a small glass-sided elevator.

“Two or three months. When you meet the right one, you just know. David proposed to me just a couple of weeks after we met – and look at us now, twenty-five years later.”

As the elevator ascended to the third floor, he had a perfect view of the tent in the back. It was connected to the house by a carpet runner of fresh flowers arranged in geometric swirls.

“Here’s my skyroom,” Hollis said with pride, showing Zayn a spectacular gallery with steel-framed glass walls and a segmented glass ceiling. Sculptures perched on Lucite pedestals at various places in the room. The floor itself was made of clear glass with few visible supports. A tiled outdoor swimming pool glittered three stories directly below. “Isn’t it fabulous? Come, I’ll show you one of my favorite sculptures.”

Zayn hesitated, staring uneasily at the glass floor. Although he had never thought of himself as having a fear of heights, he didn’t like the looks of it. The glass didn’t look nearly substantial enough to support her weight.

“Oh, it’s safe as could be,” Hollis said as she saw his expression. “You get used to it right away.” Her heels clinked like cocktail ice as she walked into the gallery. “This is the closest you’ll ever get to walking on air.”

Since Zayn had never had any desire to walk on air, that assurance wasn’t exactly motivating. He reached the edge of the glass and his feet stopped, toes curling in his shoes. Every cell in his body warned that walking onto that expanse of clear glass would result in sudden and ignominious death.

Steeling himself not to glance at the sparkling swimming pool below, he ventured out onto the slick surface.

“What do you think?” Zayn heard Hollis ask.

“Amazing,” he managed to reply. he was tingling all over, not in a happy, excited way, but in an epic-freak-out way. 

“This is one of my favorite pieces,” Hollis said, guiding Zayn to a sculpture on a pedestal. “It’s only ten thousand. Such a bargain.”

Zayn found himself staring blankly at a cast polyurethane head that had been divided in half. A collection of found objects – things such as a broken dish, a plastic ball, a cell phone case – had been wedged between the two sides. “I’m not sure how to interpret postmodern sculpture,” he admitted.

“This artist takes ordinary objects and changes their context —” Hollis was forced to pause as her phone vibrated. “Let me check this.” Reading the message, she gave an exasperated sigh. “I can’t slip away for ten minutes without someone needing me to do something. This is what I hired my secretary for. I swear, that girl is one twist short of a Slinky.”

“If there’s something you need to take care of, please go right ahead,” Zayn said, inwardly relieved at the prospect of being able to escape from the skyroom. “Don’t worry about me.”

Hollis patted his arm, her rings clattering like castanets. “I’ll find someone for you to meet. I can’t run off and leave you here alone.”

“I’m fine, Hollis. Really —”

She pulled him even farther across the treacherous floor. They passed a trio of women chatting and laughing and an elderly couple examining a sculpture. Hollis tugged him toward a photographer who stood in the corner taking candid shots of the old couple. “Shutterbug,” Hollis called out playfully, “look who I’ve got with me.”

“Hollis,” Zayn protested faintly.

Before the man lowered his camera, Zayn knew who he was. His whole body knew. he felt his presence instantly, even before he looked up into the eyes that had haunted him every night since they had met. Except that now they were as hard as onyx.

“Hi, Liam,” he managed to whisper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i post next one sooner? Or later?? hahaha


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you don’t want to see me again,” Liam said, “that’s your decision. But I’d at least like to know —”
> 
> “Jesus.” The room wouldn’t stop moving. Zayn wobbled and reached out to grasp the sleeve of Liam’s jacket in a desperate bid for balance. His phone dropped to the floor. He made the mistake of looking down at it and wobbled again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well i've decided not to keep you guys on edge much longer. How very nice of me eh? hahahahaha you gonna meet Liam's family here which you're gonna love.  
> i'll leave you to read!
> 
> enjoy! 
> 
> if you wanna talk about the story find me tumbler @pubumalik

“Liam’s doing us a favor by taking some pictures for the website,” Hollis said.

He set his camera by the sculpture, his gaze pinning Zayn like a butterfly to a spreading board. “Zayn. Nice to see you again.”

“Would you mind keeping company with Zayn while she waits here for your cousin Ryan?” Hollis asked.

“My pleasure,” Liam said.

“There’s no need —” Zayn began uncomfortably, but Hollis had already disappeared in a flurry of ostrich feathers.

Silence.

Zayn hadn’t expected it would be this difficult to face Liam. The memories of everything they had done surrounded them like scorch marks in the air. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he managed to say. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “I haven’t handled this well,” he said.

Liam’s face was unreadable. “No, you haven’t.”

“I’m sorry —” Zayn stopped, having made the mistake of letting his gaze drop too far. A brief glimpse of the glass floor had given him a bizarre tilting sensation, as if the entire house had begun to rotate sideways.

“If you don’t want to see me again,” Liam said, “that’s your decision. But I’d at least like to know —”

“Jesus.” The room wouldn’t stop moving. Zayn wobbled and reached out to grasp the sleeve of Liam’s jacket in a desperate bid for balance. His phone dropped to the floor. He made the mistake of looking down at it and wobbled again.

Reflexively Liam reached out to steady him. “You okay?” Zayn heard him ask.

“Yes. No.” he gripped one of his wrists.

“Too much to drink?”

It was like standing on the deck of a ship in a rolling sea. “No, it’s not that… the floor, it’s giving me vertigo. Shit, shit–”

“Look at me.” Liam gripped his wrist and reached for Zayn’s other arm. Zayn stared blindly at the dark blur of Liam’s face until his eyes refocused. The rocklike steadiness of his hold was the only thing that kept him from tipping over. “I’ve got you,” Liam said.

A wave of nausea drained the color from his skin. Beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

“The floor does this to at least half the people who try to walk on it,” Liam continued. “The effect of the water below throws you off balance. Take a deep breath.”

“I didn’t want to walk out here,” Zayn said desperately. “I only did it because Hollis insisted, and I’m trying like hell to land her as a client.” The sweat was going to ruin Zayn’s makeup. He was going to dissolve like a chalk drawing in the rain.

“Would it help you to know that the floor is made out of layers of structural safety glass that’s at least two inches thick?”

“No” came his woebegone reply.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his expression softened. Carefully he released one of Zayn’s arms and took his hand. “Close your eyes and let me lead you.”

Zayn gripped his hand and tried to follow as he moved they forward. After a couple of steps Zayn stumbled, panic clamoring through his body. Liam’s arm locked around Zayn immediately, hauling him against him, but the tumbling sensation persisted.

“Oh God,” Zayn said in dazed misery. “There’s no way I’m getting off this stupid floor without falling.”

“I’m not going to let you fall.”

“I feel sick to my stomach —”

“Easy. Stay still and keep your eyes closed.” Keeping his arm around Zayn, Liam reached into his tux jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. Zayn felt the soft folded cloth press gently against his forehead and cheeks, absorbing the film of sweat. “You just got yourself a little worked up, that’s all,” Liam murmured. “You’ll feel better once your blood pressure goes down. Breathe.” Pushing a lock of hair away from Zayn’s face, Liam continued to hold him. “You’re fine.” His voice was quiet, soothing. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Feeling how solid he was, the strength of him all around Zayn, he began to relax. One of his palms pressed against his chest, riding the steady rhythm of his breath.

“You look beautiful in this outfit,” Liam said quietly. His hand moved gently through the soft waves of Zayn’s hair, Zayn felt relieved about deciding to wear his hair fall around his neck. “And I like this.”

Zayn kept his eyes closed, remembering the way Liam had gripped his hands in his hair that night, holding his head back while he’d kissed his throat —

Zayn felt the movement of his arm as Liam gestured to someone.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asked weakly.

“My brother Jack and his wife just got off the elevator.”

“Don’t call them over here,” he begged.

“You’ll get nothing but sympathy from Ella. She got stuck out on this floor when she was pregnant, and Jack ended up having to carry her off.”

An affable voice entered the conversation. “Hey, bro. What’s going on?”

“My friend has vertigo.”

Zayn opened his eyes cautiously. It was obvious that the striking man standing next to Liam was from the same supernally blessed Payne gene pool. Dark hair, alpha charisma, a raffish quality in his grin. “Jack Payne,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

Zayn began to turn to shake his hand, but Liam’s arms tightened.

“No, keep still,” Liam murmured. He told his brother, “He’s trying to get his bearings.”

“Fuckin’ glass floor,” Jack said ruefully. “I told Hollis to add a layer of smart glass, and then she could turn the whole thing opaque just by flipping a switch. People should listen to me.”

“I listen to you,” a woman said, approaching them with small, painstaking steps.

“Yeah,” Jack replied, “but only so you can argue.” He smiled down at her and slid an arm around her shoulders. She was slim and pretty, with chin-length blond hair, her eyes denim blue behind a delicate pair of cat’s-eye glasses. “What are you doing, tiptoeing out here?” Jack asked her in a gently scolding tone. “You’re going to get stuck again.”

“I can handle it now that I’m not pregnant,” she told him. “And I want to meet Liam’s friend.” She smiled at me. “I’m Ella Payne”

“This is Zayn,” Liam said. “Let’s put off the rest of the introductions for now. The floor’s making him dizzy.”

Ella gave Zayn a sympathetic look. “The same thing happened to me the first time I walked out on it. A see-through floor is such a ridiculous idea – do you realize if this glass is somehow broke we could die by drowning in the swimming pool? 

Zayn couldn’t help glancing down in reflexive alarm, and the room lurched again.

“Whoa, there.” Liam steadied me immediately. “Zayn, do not look down. Ella —”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll shut up.”

Laughter rustled through Jack’s voice as he asked, “Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, see the rug they hung on that wall over there? Take it down, and we’ll lay it across the floor like a bridge. That’ll give Zayn a fixed visual reference.”

“Won’t reach all the way,” Jack pointed out.

“It’ll be close enough.”

Zayn glanced at the rug on the distant wall. The artist had applied dozens of strips of colored duct tape to the surface of an antique Persian carpet and melted them onto the textile.

“You can’t,” Zayn said. “That’s an auction item.”

“It’s a rug,” Liam replied. “It’s supposed to go on the floor.”

“It was a rug before. Now it’s art.”

“I was thinking about buying it,” Ella volunteered. “The choice of materials represents a fusion of the past with the future.”

Jack grinned at his wife. “Ella, you’re the only one here who actually reads the catalog. You know I could duct-tape a rug and make it look just like that.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be worth a dime if you did it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

Ella’s fingers walked playfully up the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. “Because, Jack Payne, you do not have the mind of an artist.”

His face lowered until their noses nearly touched, and he said in a sexy purr, “Good thing you married me for my body.”

Liam looked exasperated. “Cut it out, you two. Jack, go get the damn rug.”

“Wait,” Zayn said desperately. “Let me try walking again. Please.”

Liam didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “You think you can?”

He was feeling steadier now that his heart rate had returned to normal. “As long as I don’t look down, I think I’ll be okay.”

Liam gave him an assessing glance, while his legs bracketed Zayn’s and Liam’s hands gripped his waist. “Take off your jacket.”

Zayn felt color flooding his face. Clinging to Liam, he slipped off his jacket.

“I’ll get those,” Jack said, retrieving the jacket and phone.

“Close your eyes,” Liam told Zayn. After he complied, Liam slid an arm around his back. “Trust me,” he murmured. “And keep breathing.”

Zayn obeyed the pressure of his hands and let Liam guide him.

“Why are you meeting with Ryan?” Liam asked as he steered Zayn forward.

Grateful for the distraction, he said, “Hollis told me he needs help with ideas on how to propose to Bethany.”

“Why would he need help with that? All he has to do is ask the question and give her a ring.”

“Nowadays people make the proposal into an event.” The soles of Zayn’s feet were sweating. “You can take someone on a hot-air balloon ride and propose in midair, or go scuba diving and propose underwater, or even hire a flash mob to sing and dance.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Liam said flatly.

“Being romantic is ridiculous?”

“No, turning a private moment into a Broadway musical is ridiculous.” They stopped, and Liam turned him to face him. “You can open your eyes now.”

“We’re there?”

“We’re there.”

When Zayn saw that they were safe on solid granite flooring, He let out a sigh of relief. Discovering that his fingers were still wrapped tightly around Liam’s wrist, Zayn forced his grip to loosen. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Liam leveled a steady gaze at Zayn, and he writhed inwardly as he understood that before the evening was over, they were going to talk.

“I’ll get my camera,” he said, and went back to the skyroom.

“Here you go,” Jack said, handing him the jacket and phone.

“Thanks.” Zayn pushed the phone inside his jacket and slipped in to the jacket. “I think that qualified as my first nervous breakdown,” he said with chagrin.

“A little nervous breakdown never hurt anyone,” Jack assured him. “I gave ’em to my mom all the time.”

“You’ve given me one or two,” Ella informed him.

“You knew what you were getting into, marrying a Payne.”

“Yes, I knew.” Ella smiled and reached over to adjust his tie. “After something this traumatic,” she told Zayn cheerfully, “you need to self-medicate. Let’s go sit somewhere and have a drink.”

“I would love to,” Zayn said, “but I can’t. I have to wait here for Liam’s cousin Ryan.”

“Have you met him before?”

“No, and I have no idea what he looks like.”

“I’ll point him out to you,” Ella said. “Although the family resemblance is unmistakable. Big, hairy, lots of attitude.”

Jack bent to brush a casual kiss on her lips. “That’s just how you like ’em,” he said. “Want me to get you some champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

Jack glanced at him. “Same for you, Zayn?”

Although he would have loved some, he shook his head reluctantly. “Thank you, but I’d better stay as clearheaded as possible.”

As jack left, Ella turned a friendly gaze to Zayn. “How long have you and Liam known each other?”

“We don’t,” Zayn said quickly. “I mean… we met several days ago at a wedding I’d planned, but we’re not… you know…”

“He’s interested,” she told him. “I could tell from the way he was looking at you.”

“I’m too busy to even think about going out with someone.”

She gave Zayn a patently sympathetic look. “Zayn, I’m an advice columnist. I write about this stuff all the time. No one is ever too busy for a relationship. Katy Perry’s busy, but she dates, right? A-Rod’s busy, but he has a new girlfriend every month. So I’m guessing you were burned in your last relationship. You’ve lost faith in the entire male half of our species.”

There was something so perky and engaging about her that Zayn couldn’t help smiling. “That about sums it up.”

“Then you need to —” She broke off as Liam returned with his camera.

“Ryan’s heading over here,” he said. “I just saw him get off the elevator.”

A tall, well-dressed man approached them. His thick hair had been clipped conservatively short, the locks the color of dark chocolate. With his high cheekbones and icehouse-blue eyes, he was remarkably handsome, more austere and polished than the Payne brothers. He possessed a self-contained quality, with no hint of the Paynes’ consummate charm or easy humor, but rather a sense that he was a man who would let his guard down only reluctantly, if at all.

“Hi, Ella,” he said as he reached them, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Liam.”

“How’s it going, Rye?” Liam asked as they shook hands..

“I’ve been better.” Ryan turned to Zayn, his expression masked with politeness. “You’re the wedding planner?”

“Zayn Malik.”

His grip was firm but careful as they shook hands. “We’ll have to make this quick,” Ryan said. “I only have a few minutes before Bethany tracks me down.”

“Of course. Would you like to talk in private? I’m not familiar with the house —”

“Not necessary,” Ryan said. “Liam and Ella are family.” His gaze was cool. “What has Hollis told you about my situation?”

Zayn answered readily. “She said that you’re going to propose to her daughter, Bethany, and you wanted to talk to me about ideas for the proposal.”

“I don’t need proposal ideas,” Ryan said flatly. “Hollis only said that because she’s afraid I won’t go through with it. She and David are trying to hold my feet to the fire.”

“Why’s that?” Liam asked.

Ryan hesitated for a long moment. “Bethany’s pregnant.” The battened-down tension in his reply made it clear that the news had been neither expected nor welcome.

A sober silence descended.

“She said she wants to have the baby,” Ryan continued. “I told her I’d stand by her, of course.”

“Ryan,” Ella ventured, “I know you’re traditional about these things. But if that’s the only reason you’re proposing to Bethany, the marriage doesn’t have a great chance of working out.”

“We’ll make it work.”

“You can be part of your child’s life without having to get married,” Zayn said quietly.

“I’m not here to discuss the pros and cons. The wedding is going to happen. All I want is a say in how it turns out.”

“So you want to take an active part in the planning?” Zayn asked.

“No, I just want to set some reasonable parameters and have them enforced. Otherwise, Hollis will have the entire wedding party riding on elephants dressed in gold chain mail, or worse.”

Zayn was troubled by the prospect of planning a wedding for a reluctant groom. It seemed doubtful that he and Bethany would make it to the altar, but even if they did, the process would likely be miserable for everyone involved. “Ryan,” he said, “there are several very experienced and well-established event planners in Houston who could do a wonderful job —”

“They’re all in the Warners’ pocket. I’ve already made it clear to Hollis that I won’t put up with any event planner who’s worked for her in the past. I want someone she doesn’t own. It doesn’t matter to me about how good you are, or what kind of flowers you pick, or any of that. All I want to know is if you can stand up to Hollis when she tries to take over.”

“Of course I can,” Zayn said. “I’m a pathological control freak. And I happen to be great at my job. But before we discuss this any further, why don’t you come to my studio and —”

“You’re hired,” he said abruptly.

Zayn responded with a startled laugh. “I’m sure you’ll want to run it by Bethany first.”

Ryan shook his head. “I’ll stipulate that hiring you is a requirement for the engagement. She won’t say a word about it.”

“Usually the procedure for this starts with a studio visit. We look at a portfolio and discuss ideas and possibilities —”

“I don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary. I’ve already decided to give the job to you.”

Before Zayn could reply, Liam intervened with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Rye, I don’t think the question is whether you want to hire Zayn. I think he’s trying to figure out if he wants to take you on.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Ryan’s perplexed gaze arrowed to Zayn’s.

While Zayn was busy trying to come up with a diplomatic reply, they were interrupted by Jack’s return. “Hey, Rye.” He had arrived with Ella’s champagne in time to overhear the last of the conversation. “What are you hiring Zayn for?”

“Wedding planning,” Ryan said. “Bethany’s pregnant.”

Jack stared at him blankly. “Damn, son,” he said after a moment. “There are precautions for that.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “No method’s a hundred percent except abstinence. Explain that word to him, Ella – God knows he’s never heard it before.”

Jack grinned briefly. “She knows me well enough not to bother.”

Privately, Zayn reflected that beneath Ryan’s high-handed manner, Ryan had to be feeling what any man would in this situation: anxiety, frustration, and a tremendous need to obtain control over something. “Ryan,” Zayn said gently, “I understand your desire to start making decisions right away, but this isn’t the way to pick a wedding planner. If you’re interested in hiring me, come to my studio at your earliest convenience and we’ll talk.” As he spoke, he fished a business card from his purse and gave it to him.

Frowning, Ryan tucked the card into his pocket. “Monday morning?”

“That works fine for me.”

“Zayn,” Ella said, “may I have a card too? I need your help.”

Jack gave her a quizzical glance. “We’re already married.”

“Not for that, it’s for Haven’s baby shower.” Ella took the card Zayn gave her and gave him an imploring look. “How good are you at salvaging a disaster in the making? I had to arrange a baby shower for my sister-in-law Haven, because our other sister-in-law is swamped with a salon opening – she’s starting her own business – and I’m a terrible procrastinator, so I put it off for way too long. And Haven just told me that she’d rather not have a traditional girly shower, she’d rather it be appropriate for families. The whole thing is only half-planned, and it’s a mess.”

“When is it?” Zayn asked.

“Next weekend,” Ella said sheepishly.

“I’ll do the best I can. I can’t promise miracles, but —”

“Thank you, what a relief! Anything you can do will be great. If you want to —”

“Wait a minute,” Ryan interrupted. “Why does Ella get an instant ‘yes’ and I don’t?”

“She needs the help more,” Liam said, perfectly deadpan. “Have you been to one of Ella’s parties?”

Ella gave him a warning glance, although her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Careful, you.”

Liam grinned at her before turning his attention to Ryan. “Let’s catch a game on Sunday,” he said.

“Sounds good.” Ryan paused before asking with a subtle smile, “Does Jack have to come along this time?”

“You’d better hope I do,” Jack said. “I’m the only one who ever pays for the damn beer.”

Liam took Zayn’s elbow. “We’ll see y’all in a bit,” he said easily. “I want Zayn’s opinion on some paintings I might bid on.”

Ella winked at Zayn as Liam drew him away..

“Do you think your cousin is really going to go through with it?” Zayn asked Liam in a low tone. “If he takes some time to think it through —”

“Rye won’t change his mind,” Liam said. “His dad died when he was ten. Trust me, he’d never let a kid of his grow up fatherless.”

They stepped into the elevator. “But it doesn’t sound as if he’s considered all his options.”

“There are no options. If I were in his place, I’d do the same thing.”

“You’d propose to a woman you’d accidentally gotten pregnant, even if you didn’t love her?”

“Of course I would. Why do you look surprised?”

“It’s just… an old-fashioned notion, and I though you…uh…you’re in to dudes. that’s why.”

“It’s the right thing to do. And I don’t care the gender as long as they have what I look for”

“Oh okay” Zayn’s mind threatened to spill out the words,’ what are you looking for?’ but instead he said “ I don’t necessarily agree. The chances of divorce are very high when a marriage starts out that way.”

“In my family, if you get a woman pregnant, you take responsibility.”

“What about what Bethany wants?”

“She wants to marry a man with money. And she’s not too particular about who it is, as long as he can afford her.”

“You have no way of knowing that.”

“Honey, everybody knows it.” Liam cast a grim glance at the scenery on the other side of the elevator glass. “Ryan’s spent most of his life with his nose to the grindstone, and then when he finally decides to take a break and have some fun, he hooks up with Bethany Warner. A party girl. A professional socialite. You don’t get caught by a girl like that. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking.”

The doors opened, and they were on the main floor again. Liam took Zayn’s hand and began to tow him through the crowd.

“What are we doing?” Zayn asked.

“I’m finding us a place to talk.”

He blanched, knowing exactly what he wanted to discuss. “Here? Now? There’s no privacy.”

Liam sounded sardonic. “We could have had plenty of privacy, if you’d picked up your phone when I called.”

They proceeded through one packed room after another, pausing occasionally for brief conversations. Even in this exalted gathering of insiders, it was clear that he was something special. The combination of his name, money, and looks was all a man needed to unlock the world. But he adroitly deflected people’s eager interest, turning it around to focus on them as if they were infinitely more worthy of attention.

Eventually, they entered a room lined with dark paneled wood and bookshelves, the ceiling low and coffered, the floor covered with a thick Persian rug. Liam closed the door, muffling the sounds of conversation, laughter, and music. His polite social mask disappeared as he turned to face Zayn. In the silence, Zayn’s heartbeat gathered momentum, rolling into a hard repeated wallop.

“Why did you say there was no chance of this going anywhere?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Liam gave Zayn a caustic glance. “We’re both in to each other, Zayn. So nothing about this relationship is obvious to me.”

No matter how Zayn tried to explain, he knew he would end up sounding self-pitying or pathetic. I don’t want to end up being hurt the way Liam’s going to hurt him. He know how these things work. You want sex and fun, and when it’s over you’ll move on, but I won’t be able to, because you’ll have broken what’s left of my heart, Zayn thought to himself.

“Liam… one night with you was all I expected, and it was wonderful. But I… I need something different.” Zayn paused, trying to think of how to explain.

His eyes widened, and he said Zayn’s name on a quiet breath. Confused by the change in his demeanor, he backed up reflexively as Liam, came to him. One of his arms slid around Zayn, while his free hand lifted to cradle the side of Zayn’s face. “Zayn, sweetheart…” There was a slight rasp in his voice, something concerned… raw… sexual. “If I didn’t give you what you needed… if I didn’t satisfy you… all you had to do was tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't Jack and Ella the sweetest? :)
> 
> i just wanted to know, any of you guys ship herlito? sense8?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brian?” He looked at Zayn alertly.
> 
> Regretting Zayn slip of the tongue, he said curtly, “My fiancé. I was engaged, and we broke it off. That’s not important. My point is —”
> 
> “When did that happen?”
> 
> “It doesn’t matter.” Zayn stiffened as Liam began to approach him.
> 
> “When?” he insisted.
> 
> “A while ago.” Zayn stood from the chair and took a step back. “Liam, the buffer zone —”

Realizing that Liam had misunderstood, Zayn stammered, “No, that – that’s not – I didn’t mean —”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Liam caressed Zayn’s cheek with his thumb, and his mouth grazed Zayn’s with an erotic gentleness that left Zayn gasping. “Let me have another night with you. You can ask me for anything. Anything. I’ll make it so good for you, honey… there are so many ways… All you have to do is come to bed with me, and I’ll take care of you.”

Dazed, Zayn tried to explain that he’d gotten it all wrong, but as he opened his mouth, Liam kissed him again and again, murmuring promises about the pleasure he would give him, the things he would do for Zayn. Liam was so remorseful, so determined… and to his shame, he found it sexy as hell to be caught in the grasp of a big, aroused male who wouldn’t stop apologizing and kissing him, fixing his thigh against Zayn’s dick, pushing him against the book rack. Gradually, it seemed less important to break free .Zayn welcomed the stroke of his tongue, opened for it, and a groan resonated in his throat. His mouth ravished Zayn’s, chasing every inch of his mouth using his tongue, moaning when he tasted the remaining of whatever Zayn had for lunch. All silk and hunger, draining his of strength. 

There was a drool, connected to each other’s mouth when Liam break apart just to breath. Liam licked his lips, drool disappeared in to his mouth, looking at Zayn’s eyes full of lust. It didn’t even took a second for Liam to put his tongue inside Zayn’s again and explore his mouth making Zayn’s legs wobble a little.”Mmmh… mmh” Liam sounds only add more pressure to his dick and he didn’t want to have a boner in his career helping party. But it’s not like he can resist the man in his dreams giving him so much pleasure just by kissing. The insane chemistry between them didn’t just feel good, it felt necessary, as if Zayn needed Liam to breathe, as though his body would stop functioning if he couldn’t keep touching him.

Liam reached down to anchor Zayn’s hips against his, aggressive hardness nudging into a lush, intimate ache of his dick. Zayn quivered and began to breathe in long sighs. Remembering what it had been like – the way Liam had filled him – Zayn was overcome with disorienting heat, and all he wanted to do was sink to the floor with Liam and have him fuck Zayn right there. His’s hands wandered all over his back, and then his hand slipped inside his pants and squeezed his bum with a moan. 

Dimly realizing that the situation was about to blaze out of control, Zayn struggled and pushed at him until his arms loosened. Panting, Zayn wrenched free. Just as Liam reached for Zayn again, he held up a staying hand, his fingers trembling.

Sliding his hands in his pockets, Liam gave him a nod of assent. He began to pace slowly.

“Just to be clear,” Zayn said, his face throbbing hotly, “I was more than satisfied that night. You’re great in bed, as I’m sure a lot of men uh… or women have told you. But I want an ordinary guy, someone I can be sure of, and you… you are not that guy.”

The pacing stopped. Liam gave him a confounded glance.

Zayn licked at his still spoiled lips with Liam’s spit, and tried to think over the clamor of his pulse. “You see, it’s like… a long time ago, my mother wanted a Chanel bag for her birthday. She taped a magazine picture of it to the fridge and never stopped talking about it. My stepfather bought it for her. She kept it on the top shelf of her closet in the special protective cover it came with. But she never carried the bag. So a few years later I asked her why the Chanel bag had always stayed in the closet, and why she’d never taken it out. She said it was too nice for every day. Too fancy. She didn’t want to worry about it getting damaged or lost, and besides that, it didn’t go with any of her clothes. It didn’t fit who she was.” Zayn paused. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Liam shook his head with baffled annoyance.

“You’re the Chanel bag,” Zayn said.

Liam’s scowl deepened. “Let’s drop the metaphors, Zayn. Especially ones where I’m in a damn closet.”

“Yes, but do you get what I —”

“I want a real reason for why you won’t go out with me. Something I can understand. Like you don’t like the way I smell, or you think I’m an asshole.”

Looking down at the fabric of the chair, Zayn traced the geometric pattern with the tip of his fingernail. “I love the way you smell,” he said, “and you’re not at all an asshole. But… you are a player.”

An unaccountably long pause followed before Zayn heard his bewildered reply.

“Me?”

Zayn lifted his head. He hadn’t expected Liam to look so stunned.

“Where did you get that idea?” he asked.

“I’ve been with you, Liam. I’m a personal witness to your hookup skills. The conversation, the dancing, the way you knew exactly how to play it so I’d feel comfortable with you. And when we were in bed, you had a condom conveniently ready, right there on the nightstand, so there was no pause in the action. Obviously you’d figured out every step beforehand.”

Liam shot him affronted glance, color heightening his tan to a shade of rosewood. “You’re mad because I had a condom? You’d rather have done it without one?”

“No! It’s just that the whole thing was so… so practiced. So smooth. A routine you’ve perfected.”

His voice was quiet but biting. “There’s a difference between having experience and being a player. I don’t score men or… women. I don’t have a routine. And setting my wallet on the nightstand doesn’t make me fuckin’ Casanova.”

“You’ve been with a lot of people,” Zayn insisted.

“How are you defining ‘a lot’? Is there a number I’m not supposed to go over?”

Stung by the note of scorn, Zayn asked, “Before last weekend, had you ever slept with someone the first time you met them?”

“Once. In college. The rules were understood beforehand. Why does that matter?”

“I’m trying to make the point that sex doesn’t mean the same thing to you that it does to me. This was the only one-night stand I’ve ever had, not to mention the first time I’ve slept with someone since Brian. You and I have never even been out on a date. Maybe you don’t think of yourself as a player, but compared to —”

“Brian?” He looked at Zayn alertly.

Regretting Zayn slip of the tongue, he said curtly, “My fiancé. I was engaged, and we broke it off. That’s not important. My point is —”

“When did that happen?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Zayn stiffened as Liam began to approach him.

“When?” he insisted.

“A while ago.” Zayn stood from the chair and took a step back. “Liam, the buffer zone —”

“When was the last time you slept with him? With anyone?” Liam reached him, taking hold of Zayn’s arms as he shrank back. Zayn ended up against the bookshelves, crowded by his big frame, again.

“Let go,” He said faintly. His gaze ricocheted as he tried to look anywhere but directly at Liam. “Please.”

Liam was ruthless. “One year?” A pause. “Two?” As Zayn kept silent, Liam stroked his upper arms, his warm hands bringing up gooseflesh. His voice turned gentle. “More than two years?”

Zayn had never felt more vulnerable or mortified. Too much of his past had just been revealed, along with an avalanche of self-doubt and naïveté. As he wilted in the heat of exposure, it occurred to Zayn that he may have judged him differently from how a more emotionally secure man would have.

He threw a longing glance at the door, desperate to leave. “We have to get back to the party —”

Liam pulled Zayn against him. Zayn writhed in protest, but his arms tightened, restraining him easily. “I understand now,” Zayn heard him say after a moment. Although he wanted to ask what, exactly, Liam thought he understood, Zayn could only stand there in a trance. A minute passed, and another. He began to say something, but Liam hushed him and kept holding him. Clasped securely against the rise and fall of his chest, steeped in his body heat, Zayn felt himself relaxing.

He was filled with the bittersweet knowledge that this was the last time Liam would ever hold him. After this they would cut their losses. They would put the memory of that night behind them for good. But Zayn was going to remember this embrace, because it was the best, safest, warmest feeling he’d ever had in his life.

“We slept together too soon,” Liam said eventually. “My fault.”

“No, it wasn’t —”

“It was. I could tell you didn’t have much experience, but you were willing, and… hell, it felt too good to stop. I wasn’t trying to play you. I’m —”

“Don’t apologize for having sex with me!”

“Easy.” Liam began to smooth Zayn’s hair. “I’m not sorry that it happened. Only that it happened too soon for you to feel comfortable with it.” He bent his head and kissed the soft skin around Zayn’s ear, making him shiver. “It wasn’t casual,” he murmured. “Not for me. But I would never have let it go so far if I’d known it would scare you.”

“It didn’t scare me,” Zayn said, nettled by the implication that he was behaving like some terrified virgin.

“I think it did.” Liam’s hand went to the back of his neck, kneading the small muscles gently, easing the ache into pleasure. It was all he could do not to arch and purr like a cat.

Zayn tried to summon more indignation. “And what do you mean, you could tell I didn’t have experience? Did I do something wrong? Was I a disappointment? Was I —”

“Yeah,” Liam said, “it’s a hell of a disappointment when I come so hard, I see stars. It was such a downer that I’ve been chasing after you ever since.” Liam braced his hands on either side of Zayn, gripping the edges of the bookshelf.

“It’s over now,” Zayn managed to say. “I think we should chalk it up to – to a spontaneous moment —” he broke off with an incoherent sound as Liam leaned forward to kiss his neck.

“It can’t be over when it never even started,” Liam said against his skin. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, amber-eyed boy: You’re going to answer the phone when I call. You’re going to let me take you out, and we’re going to do some talking. There’s too much we don’t know about each other.” He found a pulse, and his lips lingered on the tiny, rampant rhythm. “So we’re going to take it slow. I’ll get to know you. You’ll get to know me. And then it’s up to you.”

“It’s too late,” Zayn managed to say in between shivering breaths. “Sleeping together ruined the getting-to-know-you part.”

“It’s not ruined. It’s just a little more complicated.”

If Zayn agreed to go out with him again, he was asking for heartbreak. Begging for it. “Liam, I don’t think —”

“No decisions right now,” he said, his head lifting. “We’ll talk later. For now…” He retreated a step and held out his hand. “Let’s go back out there and have dinner. I want a chance to prove that I can behave around you.” His hot gaze chased over Zayn. “But I swear, Zayn Malik… you don’t make it easy.”

Dinner was an elaborate six-course affair, with a piano-and-violin duet playing in the background. The tent had been decorated in black and white, with white phalaenopsis orchid centerpieces, all of it a perfect setting for the art auction. Zayn sat with Liam at a table for ten, along with Jack, Ella, and a few assorted friends.

Liam was in a relaxed good mood, at times casually resting his arm at the back of Zayn’s chair, which made him feel so small around Liam. The group was chatty and animated, making small talk with the ease of people who did it often, who knew exactly how to keep the conversation fluid. As the Payne brothers exchanged quips and good-natured jabs, it was obvious that they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

Liam recounted a recent road trip he’d taken to do photos for a Texas magazine’s “bucket list” issue, featuring activities and places that no Texan should miss during his life, among them to go two-stepping at Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth, eat chicken-fried steak topped with white gravy at a particular diner in San Antonio, and visit Buddy Holly’s grave in Lubbock. Ella volunteered that she didn’t like white gravy on her chicken-fried steak, at which point Jack half covered his face. “She eats it dry,” he confessed, as if it were blasphemy.

“It’s not dry,” Ella protested, “it’s fried. And if you ask me, battering and deep-frying cube steak and drowning it in biscuit gravy is the worst —”

Gently, Jack laid his fingers over her mouth. “Not in public,” he cautioned. As he felt the shape of her grin, he promptly removed his hand and kissed her.

“I’ve eaten chicken-fried steak for breakfast,” Liam volunteered. “With two fried eggs on the side.”

Jack gave him an approving glance. “That there’s a real man,” he told Ella.

“That there is a cardiovascular tragedy waiting to happen,” she retorted, making her husband grin.

Later, as Ella and Zayn walked to the restroom together, he remarked, “There is no shortage of testosterone at that table.”

Ella smiled. “It’s the way they were raised. The oldest brother, Gage, is just the same. But don’t worry: Despite all the brawn and bluster, Payne men are pretty enlightened.” With a rueful grin, she added, “By Texas standards.”

“So Jack helps with things like household chores and changing the diapers?”

“Oh, absolutely. But there are certain man-rules, like opening the door, or holding your chair, that are never going to change. And since Liam is obviously interested in you, I’ll tell you right now, don’t bother trying to split the check when he takes you out. He’d sooner commit hari-kari with a steak knife.”

“I don’t know if Liam and I will go out,” Zayn said cautiously. “It’s probably better if we don’t.”

“I hope you do. He’s a terrific guy.”

They exited the tent and walked along the flowered pathway to the house. “Would you say he’s a player?” Zayn asked. “A heartbreaker?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.” After a pause, Ella said frankly, “Both women, and men obviously like Liam, and Liam likes them, so… yes, there have been one or two who wanted more of a commitment than he was willing to give. Let’s face it, a lot of them would snap him up right away just because of the Payne name.”

“I’m not one of them.”

“I’m sure that’s one of the reasons Liam likes you.” They stopped beside an outdoor steel sculpture made of thick plates almost fifteen feet high, its edges curved and shaped in organic lines. Ella’s voice lowered. “The Paynes set quite a store by normalcy. They want to be part of the real world, experience it like everyone else, which is practically impossible at their level. Most of all they want to be treated like regular people.”

“Ella… they’re not regular people. I don’t care how much chicken-fried steak they eat, they’re just not. The money, the name, the looks… nothing about them is normal, no matter how they pretend otherwise.”

“They’re not pretending,” Ella said thoughtfully, “it’s more like… a value they want to live by. Trying to erase the distance between themselves and other people. They keep their egos in check, and they try to be honest with themselves.” She shrugged and smiled. “I figure they deserve some credit for making the effort… don’t you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooo how was it? Lemme know. Every time i read your comment my ears perks up, eyes twinkling and it totally make me feel so... grateful. Thank you very much for taking your time to left a comment or a kudo. it really really appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You answered,” Liam said later that night in a tone of mild surprise.
> 
> Zayn smiled, leaning back against the pillows with his cell phone in hand. “You told me to.”
> 
> “Where are you right now?”
> 
> “In bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I took a short break from updating but then i felt bad for making you guys wait (I know how i was waiting until writer posting, Soo.) Here's the 10th Chapter!  
> And thank you so much for the comments and kudos, they do nothing but brighten my day!
> 
> Okay I'll leave you guys to read :)

At nine o’clock on Monday morning, Ryan Chase arrived at the Malik Event Design studio, determined to do or say whatever was necessary to “solve the problem” and move on. Except that a wedding wasn’t supposed be a problem, it was supposed to be joyful. A union of two people who wanted to spend their lives together.

However, at this point in Zayn’s career, he had learned that some weddings didn’t match the fairy-tale template. So the goal in this case was to figure out what was possible. What might be appropriate for a bridegroom who viewed his wedding as an obligation.

Zayn welcomed Ryan into the studio and introduced him to Sofia, who would be the only other person present at the meeting. had told everyone else, including Steven, not to come in until noon. As they showed Ryan around, he seemed pleasantly surprised by the studio, looking closely at their renovations, the rows of factory windows left intact. “I like this place,” he said. “I thought everything was going to be pink and black.”

Sofia and Zayn laughed.

“We have to live here,” Zayn said, “so it had to be comfortable and not too fussy. And on occasion, we do plan events other than weddings.”

“It’s nice that you kept some of the industrial elements.” Ryan glanced up at a couple of exposed pipes overhead. “I do a lot of restoration projects. Old courthouses, theaters, and museums. I like buildings with character.”

They sat on the blue sofa, while a video monitor played a photo stream from past weddings that the studio had planned and coordinated. “Ryan,” Zayn began carefully, “I’ve given a lot of thought to your circumstances. Every wedding comes with a certain amount of built-in stress. But when you add the stress of Bethany’s pregnancy, and the drama Hollis brings to the table, it’s going to be…”

“A nightmare?” he supplied.

“I was going to say ‘challenging,’” Zayn said wryly. “Have you considered talking Bethany into an elopement? Because we could arrange something simple and romantic, and I think it would be much easier on you.”

Sofia shot him a startled glance. Zayn knew she was wondering why he would risk the loss of a huge opportunity for their business. But he had to bring up the idea of eloping – he couldn’t have lived with himself otherwise.

Ryan shook his head. “There’s no way Bethany would ever go for that. She told me she’s been dreaming her whole life about a big wedding.” He relaxed a little, his blue eyes warming several degrees. “But it was nice of you to mention it. Thanks for taking my feelings into consideration.” This was said without a trace of self-pity, only a matter-of-fact friendliness.

“Your feelings are important,” Zayn said. “And so are your opinions. I’m trying to get a sense of how much involvement you’ll want in the wedding-planning process. Some men prefer to take part in every decision, whereas others —”

“Not me,” he said flatly. “I’ll leave all that to Bethany and Hollis. Not that I’d have a choice, anyway. But what I don’t want is for the wedding to turn into something…” He paused, trying to think of the right word.

“Una paletada hortera,” Sofia supplied. At our questioning glances, she said, “There’s not really a phrase for it in English… the best translation is ‘a shovelful of tacky.’”

Ryan laughed, the flash of humor and warmth transforming his face. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

“All right, then,” Zayn said. “During the planning process, I’ll give you updates as things are decided. If there’s something you don’t like, I’ll shut it down. There may be a couple of things we’ll have to compromise on, but overall, the wedding will be elegant. And it will not turn into The Hollis Warner Show.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said feelingly. He looked at his watch. “If that’s it for now —”

“Wait, what about the proposal?” Zayn asked.

A slight frown crossed his brow. “I’ll probably propose to Bethany next weekend.”

“Yes, but do you know how you’re going to do it?”

“I’ll get a ring and take her out to dinner.” His frown deepened as he saw my expression. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all. But you could do it in a more imaginative way. We could come up with something cute and fairly easy.”

“I’m not good at cute,” Ryan said.

“Take her to Padre Island,” Sofia suggested. “Stay at a beachside villa for a night. The next morning, the two of you could go for a walk on the beach…”

“And you’ll pretend to find a message in a bottle,” Zayn said, brainstorming.

“No, no,” Sofia interrupted, “not a bottle… a sand castle. We’ll hire some professional sand sculptors to do it —”

“Based off a sketch that Ryan’s provided,” Zayn said. “He’s an architect – he can design a special sand castle for Bethany.”

“Perfect,” Sofia exclaimed, and we high-fived each other.

Ryan had been glancing back and forth between them as if he were attending a tennis match.

“Then you’ll get down on one knee and propose,” Zayn continued, “and —”

“Do I have to take a knee when I ask her?” Ryan asked.

“No, but it’s traditional.”

Ryan rubbed the lower half of his jaw, clearly not liking the idea.

“Men used to kneel when they were being knighted,” Sofia pointed out.

“Or beheaded,” Ryan said darkly.

“Kneeling will look nicer for the pictures,” Zayn said.

“Pictures?” Ryan’s brows lifted. “You want me to propose to Bethany with camera guys there?”

“One photographer,” Zayn said hastily. “You’ll hardly notice him. We’ll camouflage him.”

“We’ll hide him in a sand dune,” Sofia added.

Frowning, Ryan raked his hand through the close-cut layers of his brown hair, the light picking out glints of mahogany.

Zayn looked at Sofia. “Never mind. A camera at the proposal sounds like a shovelful of tacky to me.”

Ryan lowered his head, but not before I saw a reluctant smile emerge. “Damn it,” he heard Ryan mutter.

“What?”

“Suggesting you as the wedding planner is turning out to be the first nice thing Hollis has ever done for me. Which means I might have to thank her.”

**************************************

“You answered,” Liam said later that night in a tone of mild surprise.

Zayn smiled, leaning back against the pillows with his cell phone in hand. “You told me to.”

“Where are you right now?”

“In bed.”

“Should I call another time?”

“No, I’m not sleeping, I always sit in bed and do some reading at the end of the day.”

“What do you like to read?”

Zayn glanced at the pile of candy-colored novels on the nightstand and replied with self-conscious amusement, “Comics. Mostly marvels and love stories. Specially with happy endings.”

“What? DC is the better my love. You gotta love Bat Man. And do you ever get tired of knowing how the book’s going to end?”

“Why would I? And No, that’s the best part. Happily-ever-afters are hard to come by in real life, even in the wedding business. But at least I can count on one in a book.”

“I’ve seen some great marriages in real life.”

“They don’t stay that way, though. Every marriage starts as a happy ending, and then it turns into a marriage.”

“How did someone who doesn’t believe in happily-ever-after end up as a wedding planner?”

Zayn told him about his first job after graduating in fashion design, how he’d apprenticed under a New York designer for a bridal fashion label, managing the sample room, learning to analyze sales reports, developing relationships with buyers. Zayn had worked on a few of his own designs and had even won a prize as an emerging designer. But when he’d tried to start his own label, it had never gotten off the ground. No one had shown any enthusiasm for backing him.

“I was honestly stunned,” He told Liam. “The collection I’d designed was beautiful. I had a great reputation, and I’d built up all these amazing contacts. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. So I called Jasmine, and she said —”

“Who’s Jasmine?”

“Oh, I forgot I hadn’t told you about her. Jasmine’s my best friend in New York. A mentor. She’s the head fashion director at Glimmer magazine. She knows everything about style, and she can always tell which trends huge, and which ones will be will never get off the ground–” Zayn paused. “Is this boring?”

“Not at all. Tell me what she said.”

“Jasmine said there was nothing wrong with my collection. It was competently designed. Everything was in perfect taste.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“That was the problem. I didn’t take any risks. I didn’t push my ideas enough. The extra something, that spark of originality… it wasn’t there. But she said I was a fantastic businessman. I was good at networking and promoting; I got the business side of fashion like no one else she knew. I didn’t like hearing any of this; I wanted to be a creative genius. But I had to admit that the business was what I’d really enjoyed, way more than the design work.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“I know that now. At the time, though, it was hard to let go of something I’d worked so hard for. Not long after that, my father had a stroke. So I flew down to visit him in the hospital, and I met Sofia, and my whole life changed.”

“And the broken engagement?” Liam surprised Zayn by asking. “When did that happen?”

The question made him tense and uncomfortable. “I hate talking about that.”

“We don’t have to.” The gentleness of Liam’s voice eased the tightness in his chest. He settled back deeper into the pillows. “Do you miss New York?” Liam asked.

“Sometimes.” Zayn paused and said ruefully, “A lot. But there are some days when I don’t think about it as much as others.”

“What do you miss most about it?”

“My friends most of all. And… it’s hard to put it into words, but… New York is the only place where I could be the person I want to be. It speeds me up and makes me think bigger. God, what a city. I still dream about going back someday.”

“Why did you leave in the first place?”

“I was sort of… not myself… after the broken engagement, and my father passing away. I needed a change. And I especially needed to be with Sofia. We had just found each other. It was the right decision to move down here. But someday, when Sofia is ready to take over, I’m going to go back to New York and give it another shot.”

“I think you’ll do fine wherever you live. In the meantime, you can go visit, can’t you?”

“Yes, but I’ve been too busy the past three years. Soon, though. I want to see my friends in person. I want to go to a couple of plays, and some of my favorite restaurants, and find a street fair with five-dollar pashminas, and have a slice of really good pizza, and there’s this rooftop bar on Fifth where you get the most perfect view of the Empire State Building…”

“I know that bar.”

“You do?”

“Sure. The one with the garden.”

“Yes! I can’t believe you’ve been there.”

Liam sounded amused. “I’ve been outside the state of Texas, despite appearances to the contrary.”

He told Zayn about a couple of his past trips to New York. They exchanged stories about places where they’d traveled, about ones they’d want to go back to and the ones they wouldn’t. About the freedom of traveling alone, but also the loneliness.

When Zayn realized how late it was, he couldn’t believe the conversation had lasted for over two hours. They agreed it was time to call it a night. But he had no desire to stop. He could have gone on talking.

“This was fun,” Zayn find himself saying, feeling warm and even a little giddy with a satisfying grin. “I wish we could do it again.” In the short silence that followed, Zayn covered his eyes with his free hand, wishing he could take back the impulsive words.

There was a smile in Liam’s voice. “I’ll keep calling,” he said, “if you’ll keep answering.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be about Heaven's baby shower. Oh and there is a swimming pool. As in Zayn and Liam in the swimming pool. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Zayn began to tug his hand free, Liam’s grip tightened. Amusement sparkled in his eyes as he murmured, “It’s okay.”
> 
> But Zayn pulled away, reluctant to make any kind of demonstration in front of his family.
> 
> “Uncle Liam,” Zayn heard Luke ask, “is that your boyfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the 11th chapter. 12 is already done and dusted so it will be here in next few days. This one is a bot longer i guess? I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for the comments and kudos. I feel your excitement guys! I feel you.
> 
> PS; Have any of you watched "Call me by your name" movie? There's Timothee and Armie and wooow.. the movie is so fucking awesome. I mean just watch it guys. It's about two amazing human beings falling love.

As it turned out, they talked every night for a week, including the night Liam was driving back late from a photo shoot in Brownwood. He’d done a session for a young congressman who’d just been elected to the U.S. House in a special runoff. The congressman had been a difficult subject, controlling and awkward, posing like a politician, roosterlike, despite Liam’s efforts to catch him in a relaxed moment. And the guy was a braggart, a name-dropper, qualities that were nearly intolerable to a Payne.

While they talked during Liam’s long drive to Houston, he told Zayn about the photo shoot, and Zayn filled him in on the planning for Haven’s baby shower. It was going to be held at the Payne River Oaks mansion, which had gone unoccupied ever since Churchill’s passing, mostly because no one knew what to do with it. None of the Paynes particularly wanted to sell the place – it was where they’d grown up – but neither did any of them want to live in it. Too big. Too reminiscent of their parents, who were both gone now. However, the pool and patio on the mansion’s three-acre lot would provide the perfect setting for a party.

“I went to the River Oaks house today,” Zayn said. “Ella showed me around.”

“What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” The massive stone house had been designed to look like a château, surrounded by vast tracts of mowed green lawn, precisely trimmed hedges, and elaborate flower beds. After seeing walls sponged with a Tuscan faux finish and windows smothered with swag draperies, Zayn had agreed with Ella’s assessment that someone needed to “de-eighties” the place.

“Ella said that Jack had asked if she wanted to move there,” he continued, “since they have two kids and the apartment’s getting cramped.”

“What did she say?”

“She told him the house is too big for a family of four. And Jack said they should move there anyway and just keep having children.”

Liam laughed. “Good luck to him. I doubt he’ll ever talk Ella into moving there, no matter how many kids they end up with. It’s not her kind of place. Or his, for that matter.”

“What about Gage and Liberty?”

“They’ve built their own house in Tanglewood. And I don’t think Haven and Hardy have any more interest in living in River Oaks than I do.”

“Would your father have wanted one of you to keep it?”

“He didn’t say anything specific.” A pause. “But he was proud of that place. It was a measure of what he’d achieved.”

Liam had previously told Zayn about his father, a tough bantam of a man who’d come from nothing. The deprivation of Churchill’s childhood had instilled a fierce drive to succeed, almost a rage, that had never fully left him. His first wife, Joanna, had died soon after giving birth to a son, Gage. A few years later, Churchill had married Karen, a glamorous, cultured, supremely elegant woman whose ambition was equal to Churchill’s, and that was saying something. She had smoothed some of his rough edges, taught him about subtlety and diplomacy. And she had given him two sons, Jack and Liam, and a petite dark-haired daughter, Haven.

Churchill had insisted on raising the boys with responsibility and a sense of obligation, to become the kind of men he approved of. To be like him. He had been a man of absolutes: A thing was either good or bad, right or wrong. Having seen how the children of some of his well-to-do peers had turned out – spoiled and soft – Churchill had been determined not to raise his offspring with a sense of entitlement. His boys had been required to excel in school, especially math, a subject that Gage had mastered and at which Jack had been proficient and Liam, on his best days, had never been more than adequate. Liam’s talents had been in reading and writing, pursuits Churchill considered somewhat unmanly, especially because Karen had liked them.

His youngest son’s lack of interest in Churchill’s private equity investments and financial management consulting business had finally resulted in a huge blowup. He always wanted to do a job where he can be creative. He insisted he wanted to do engineering and work on vehicles. When Liam turned eighteen, Churchill had wanted to put him on the board of his holding company, as he’d done with Gage and Jack. He’d always planned on having all three sons on the board.

But Liam had flat-out refused just like the way he was younger and entered to the Texas university to study on mechatronics engineering. Churchill decided to wait for him until he get the degree. But unfortunately, Liam was on his opinion even after all those years at college. He hadn’t even accepted a nominal position. The mushroom cloud had been visible for miles. Karen had passed away from cancer two years earlier, and there had been no one to mediate or intervene. Liam’s relationship with his father had been ice cold for a couple of years after that and hadn’t entirely recovered until Liam had stayed with him after the boat accident.

“I had to learn patience fast,” Liam had told Zayn. “My lungs were shot, and it was hard to argue with Dad when I was breathing like a Pekingese.”

“How did you two manage to reconcile?”

“We went out to play golf. I hated golf. Old-man sport. But Dad insisted on dragging me to the driving range. He taught me how to swing a club. We played a couple of times after that.” A grin emerged. “He was so old, and I was so busted up, neither of us could break one thirty on eighteen holes.”

“But you had a good time?”

“We did. And after that, everything was fine.”

“But… it couldn’t have been. If you didn’t talk about the issues…”

“That’s one of the great things about being a Payne: Sometimes we fix things by deciding it was bullshit and ignoring the hell out of it.”

“That’s not fixing,” Zayn had protested.

“Sure it is. Like Civil War medicine: Amputate and move on.” Liam had paused. “Usually you can’t do that with a man like you.”

“Not usually,” Zayn had agreed dryly. “I like to solve problems by actually facing them and working out compromises.”

“Golf’s easier.”

In less than a week, Zayn’s team had put together a vintage-boardwalk-themed party for Haven Payne’s baby shower. Louis had enlisted a local theater set crew to help him construct and paint a dessert station that resembled a boardwalk game arcade. Steven hired a landscaper to install a temporary mini golf course on the grounds of the Payne mansion. Together Sofia and Zayn met with caterers and agreed on an outdoor party menu featuring gourmet burgers, grilled shrimp kebabs, and lobster rolls.

The forecast for the day of the party was ninety degrees and humid. The event team arrived at the Payne mansion at ten a.m. After helping the tent company reps to set up a row of open-sided cabana tents by the pool, Steven returned to the kitchen, where the rest of them were unboxing decorations.

“Louis,” he said, “I need you and your guys to assemble the boardwalk arcade, and after that —” Steven broke off as he saw Sofia. His gaze traveled over the sleek length of her legs. “That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked, as if she were half-naked.

Sofia gave him a perplexed glance, a large bleached starfish in her hand. “What do you mean?”

“Your outfit.” Scowling, Steven turned his attention to Zayn. “Are you actually going to let her wear that?”

Zayn was dumbfounded. Sofia was dressed like a forties pinup girl in red-and-white polka-dotted shorts with a matching halter top. The outfit showed off her curvy figure, but there was nothing immodest about it. He couldn’t fathom why Steven would object.

“What’s wrong with it?” Zayn asked.

“It’s too short.”

“It’s ninety degrees outside,” Sofia snapped at Steven, “and I’m going to be working all day. Do you expect me to wear an outfit like Zayn’s?”

Zayn sent her an irritated glance.

Before getting dressed that morning, Zayn had considered wearing some of his new clothes, most of which had hung in his closet untouched. However, old habits were hard to break. Rather than choose something silky and colorful, he had reverted to one of his old standbys: a relaxed very soft gray hoodie with black joggers. It was loose and long-sleeved, worn-over. But the outfit was comfortable, and Zayn felt safe wearing it.

Steven gave Sofia a caustic glance. “Of course not. But it’s still better than dressing like the featured performer at a strip club.”

“Steven, that’s enough,” Zayn said sharply.

“I’m going to fire you for sexual harassment,” Sofia cried.

“You can’t fire me,” Steven informed her. “Only Zayn can fire me.”

“He won’t have to if I kill you first!” She leapt toward him, holding the starfish like a weapon.

“Sofia,” Zayn yelped, grabbing her from behind. “Take it easy! Put that down. Jesus, have you both lost your minds?”

“Someone around here has,” Zayn heard Steven say. “Unless the plan is to flaunt Sofia as millionaire bait.”

That did it. No one insulted his sister that way. “Louis,” he said in a murderous tone, “get him out of here. Throw him into the pool to cool him off.”

“Literally?” Louis asked.

“Yes, literally throw him into the pool.”

“Not the pool” came Steven’s muffled voice. Louis already had him in a headlock. “I’m wearing linen!”

One of the qualities Zayn appreciated most about Louis was his unqualified allegiance to him. He hauled Steven out of the kitchen, lumbering like a small bear. No amount of struggling and swearing would dissuade him.

“If I let go of you,” Zayn said to Sofia, who was straining to break free, “promise not to follow them outside.”

“I want to watch Louis throw him into the pool.”

“I understand. So do I. But this is our business, Sofia. We have work to do. Don’t let Steven’s lapse of sanity interfere with it.” When he felt her relax, he dropped his arms from around her.

Zayn’s sister turned to face him, looking furious and crestfallen. “He hates me. I don’t know why.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Zayn said.

“But why —”

“Sofia,” he said, “he’s an asshole. We’ll talk about it later. For now, let’s get to work.”

When Zayn saw Steven two hours later, he was mostly dry. He worked on the finishing touches of the mini golf course, positioning an old-fashioned diver’s helmet so a golf ball could roll up a ramp into the front porthole.

As Zayn approached, he spoke tersely while adjusting the ramp. “Dolce and Gabbana shorts. Dry-clean only. You owe me three hundred bucks.”

“You owe me an apology,” Zayn said. “This is the first time you’ve ever been less than professional during a job.”

“I apologize.”

“You owe an apology to Sofia.”

Steven remained mutinously silent.

“Care to explain what’s going on?” Zayn asked.

“I’ve already explained. Her outfit is inappropriate.”

“Because she looks cute and sexy? It’s not a problem for anyone else. Why does it bother you so much?”

Another stony silence.

“The caterers are here,” Zayn finally said. “The band is arriving at eleven. El and Sofia have almost finished decorating the indoor areas, and then I’ll have them start on the patio tables.”

“I need Ree-Ann to help with the cabanas.”

“I’ll send her out.” he paused. “One more thing. From now on, I insist that you treat Sofia with respect. Even though I’m technically in charge of hiring and firing, Sofia and I are equal partners. And if she wants you gone, you’re gone. Understood?”

“Understood,” he muttered.

As Zayn headed back to the house, he passed Louis, who was carrying two huge bunches of helium-filled balloons for the dessert arcade. “Thanks for helping me with Steven,” Zayn said.

“You mean tossing him into the pool? No problem. I’ll throw him in again if you want.”

“Thank you,” Zayn said with grim amusement, “but if he steps out of line again, I’ll throw him in myself.”

He returned to the kitchen, where Ree-Ann and the caterers were uncrating sets of plates and glassware for the indoor dining area.

“Where’s Sofia?” he asked.

“She went to say hi to some of the Paynes. They just arrived.”

“When you’re done with the plates, Steven needs you to help him with the cabanas.”

“Sure thing.”

Zayn went to the main living room to find the group standing at the row of long windows with Sofia. They looked out at the pool and patio area, exclaiming and talking and laughing. A small dark-haired boy jumped up and down and tugged on the hem of Jack’s shirt. “Daddy, take me outside! I wanna go see! Daddy! Daddy —”

“Hold your horses, son.” Jack ruffled the boy’s hair gently. “They’re not ready for us yet.”

“Zayn,” Ella exclaimed as she saw him, “what an amazing job you’ve done. I was just telling Sofia that it looks like Disneyland out there.”

“I’m so glad you’re happy with it.”

“I’m never having a party without the two of you again. Can I keep you on retainer like lawyers?”

“Yes,” Sofia said immediately.

Laughing, Zayn turned his attention to the baby in Ella’s arms. The infant was adorably chubby and pink-cheeked, with big blue eyes and curly blond hair pulled up in a topknot.

“Who is this?” Zayn asked.

“That’s my sister, Mia,” the little boy answered before Ella could reply, “and I’m Luke, and I want to go to the party!”

“It’ll be ready soon,” Zayn promised. “You can be the first one to go outside.”

Deciding that it had fallen to him to make introductions, Luke pointed to the couple nearby. “That’s my aunt Haven. She’s got a big tummy. There’s a baby in there.”

“Luke —” Ella began, but he continued earnestly.

“She eats more than Uncle Hardy, and he could eat a whole dinosaur.”

Ella clapped a hand to her forehead. “Luke —”

“I did once,” Hardy Cates said, lowering to his haunches. He was big and ruggedly built, a good-looking man with the bluest eyes Zayn had ever seen. “Back when I was a boy camping in the Piney Woods. My friends and I were chasing armadillos across a dry river bottom, and we saw a big shape moving through the trees…”

The child listened, enraptured, as Hardy told him a tall tale about a dinosaur being pursued, lassoed, and eventually barbecued.

No doubt the prospect of marrying the only daughter in the Payne family would have deterred more than a few men. But Hardy Cates didn’t seem like the type who was capable of being intimidated. He was a former roughneck who had started his own oil recovery company, going into spent fields to extract leftover reserves that bigger companies had left behind. Ella had described him as hardworking and wily, covering up his outsize ambition with plenty of laid-back charm. Hardy seemed so affable, Ella had said, that people were fooled into thinking they’d gotten to know him, even though they hadn’t. But the Paynes all agreed on one thing: Hardy loved Haven intensely, would have died for her. According to Ella, Jack had facetiously claimed he almost felt sorry for the guy, being wrapped around his little sister’s finger like that.

Zayn reached out to shake Haven’s hand. She was delicately pretty, with dark winged brows. A Payne, unmistakably, although she was so much slighter and smaller than her towering brothers that she seemed to be a half-scale version. She was far along in her pregnancy, her ankles swollen and her stomach so heavy that it made Zayn want to wince in sympathy.

“Zayn,” she said, “it’s so nice to meet you. Thanks for doing this.”

“We had a lot of fun,” he said. “If there’s anything we can do to make the party more enjoyable, just tell me. Can I get you some lemonade? Ice water?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“She should be drinking something continuously,” Hardy said, coming to his wife’s side. “She’s dehydrated and retaining water.”

“At the same time?” Zayn asked.

Haven smiled ruefully. “Apparently so. Who knew it was possible? We just came from my weekly checkup.” She leaned against Hardy, and her smile widened. “We also found out that we’re having a girl.”

Luke received this announcement with a look of disgust. “Awwww…”

Amid the general congratulations, Zayn heard a familiar deep voice. “That’s good news – we need more girls in the family.” Zayn’s heart kicked into a faster pace as Liam entered the room, lean and athletic in a pair of board shorts and a blue T-shirt.

He went straight to Haven, gathering her in a careful hug. Keeping her at his side, he reached out to shake Hardy’s hand. “Let’s just hope she has her mama’s looks.”

Hardy chuckled. “No one’s hoping for that more than me.” They prolonged the handshake for a couple of extra seconds, in the way of good friends.

Liam looked down at Haven affectionately. “How are you, sis?”

She looked up at him with chagrin. “When I’m not throwing up, I’m starving. I have aches and pains, mood swings and hair loss, and this past week I sent poor Hardy out for chicken nuggets at least a half-dozen times. Other than that, I’m great.”

“I don’t mind going out to get you the chicken nuggets,” Hardy told her. “The hard part is watching you eat them with grape jelly.”

Liam laughed and grimaced.

While Ella engaged the parents-to-be in a conversation about the doctor’s visit, Liam came to Zayn and bent to kiss his forehead. The touch of Liam’s mouth, the soft rush of his breath, sent a ripple of excitement down Zayn’s spine. After the long talks they’d had, he should have felt comfortable with Liam. Instead he was nervous and oddly shy.

“You been busy today?” Liam asked.

Zayn nodded. “Since six.”

Liam’s fingers tangled gently with his. “Can I help with something?”

Before Zayn could reply, more of the family arrived. Gage, the oldest Payne sibling, was tall and athletic like his brothers, but his manner was quieter, composed, in comparison with their rough-and-tumble charm. His eyes were a striking pale gray, the light irises contained in darker rims.

Gage’s wife, Liberty, was an attractive brunette with a warm, open smile. She introduced Zayn to her son, Matthew, a boy of about five or six, and his big sister, Carrington, a pretty blond girl in her early teens. Everyone was laughing and talking at once, at least a half-dozen conversations happening simultaneously.

Even without prior knowledge of the Paynes, Zayn would have perceived instantly that they were a close-knit bunch. You could see and feel it in the way they interacted, with the familiarity of people who knew one another’s schedules and habits. The genuine liking between them was unmistakable. These were not relationships that would be set aside lightly or taken for granted. Having never been part of such a group, or anything remotely similar, he was fascinated but leery. he wondered how they could become part of a family like that and not be subsumed.

Zayn stood on his toes to murmur near Liam’s ear, “I have to carry some things out to the mini golf course.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Although Zayn began to tug his hand free, Liam’s grip tightened. Amusement sparkled in his eyes as he murmured, “It’s okay.”

But Zayn pulled away, reluctant to make any kind of demonstration in front of his family.

“Uncle Liam,” Zayn heard Luke ask, “is that your boyfriend?”

Zayn turned crimson, while someone choked back a laugh.

“Not yet,” Liam said easily, holding one of the French doors for him. “You have to work a little harder to get one of the good ones.” He accompanied Zayn out to the patio and reached down for a bag of miniature golf clubs and a bucket of balls. “I’ll carry these,” he said. “You lead the way.

As they walked across the patio and past the row of poolside cabanas, Zayn debated inwardly about saying something to him, about giving his family the wrong impression. He didn’t want them to think there was anything going on between them other than friendship. However, this didn’t seem to be the right time or place to discuss it.

“Everything looks great,” Liam said, taking in the arcade dessert buffet, the band setting up near the house.

“Considering how little time we had, it’s not bad.”

“Everyone appreciates the effort you put into it.”

“I’m glad to help.” Zayn paused. “Your family seems really close. Even a bit clannish.”

Liam considered that and shook his head. “I wouldn’t say we’re clannish. We all have outside friends and interests.” As they walked over a section of mowed green lawn, he said, “I’ll admit, we’ve seen a lot of each other since Dad died. We decided to start a charity foundation, with the four of us as the board of trustees. It’s taken some time to get it up and running.”

“When you were growing up,” Zayn asked, “did you have the usual fights and sibling rivalries?”

Liam’s mouth twitched as if he was amused by a distant memory. “You could say that. Jack and I nearly killed each other a couple of times. But whenever we got too rough, Gage would come and beat on us until we settled down. The way to earn a surefire killing was to do something mean to Haven – kidnap one of her dolls or scare her with a spider – Gage would come after us like the wrath of God.”

“Where were your parents when all of that was happening?”

Liam shrugged. “We were left on our own a lot. Mom was always cochair of one charity or another, or busy with her friends. Dad was usually gone doing TV appearances or flying overseas.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“The problem wasn’t Dad being gone. The problem was when he tried to make up for lost time. He was afraid we were being raised soft.” Liam gestured with the bag of clubs. “See that retaining wall over there? One summer Dad had a truck unload three tons of stone in the backyard, and he told us to build a wall. He wanted us to learn the value of hard work.”

Zayn blinked at the sight of the dry-stacked wall, three feet high, extending approximately twenty feet before tapering to the ground. “Just the three of you?”

Liam nodded. “We cut rock with chisels and hand sledges, and stacked it, all in hundred-degree heat.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“I can’t believe your mother allowed that.”

“She wasn’t happy about it. But once Dad put his foot down, there was no changing his mind. I think when he’d had a chance to think about it, he was sorry about having made the job that big. But he couldn’t back down. To him, changing his mind was a weakness.”

After setting down the clubs, Liam went to pour the golf balls into a painted wooden container. He glanced at the wall, squinting against the sun. “It took the three of us a month. But when we finished building the son of a bitch, we knew we could rely on each other. We’d made it through hell together. From then on we never raised a fist against each other again. No matter what. And we never took Dad’s side against each other.”

Zayn reflected that while the family’s wealth had conferred many advantages, none of the Payne offspring had escaped the pressures of expectation and obligation. No wonder they were close – who else would understand what their lives had been like?

Pensively, Zayn wandered to the first hole of the mini golf course. The ramp on the diver’s helmet didn’t look quite straight, and Zayn went to fiddle with it. He rolled a ball up the ramp and frowned as it bounced off the edge of the helmet’s porthole. “I hope this is going to work.”

Liam pulled a club from the bag, dropped a ball to the green, and putted. The ball rolled neatly across the green, up the ramp, and into the porthole. “Seems fine.” He handed me the club. “You want to give it a try?”

Gamely, Zayn placed a ball on the green and took a swing. The ball careened up the ramp, bounced off the helmet, and rolled back to him.

“You’ve never played golf before.”

“How can you tell?” Zayn asked dryly.

“Mostly because you’re holding the club like a flyswatter.”

“I hate sports,” I confessed. “I always have. In school, I avoided gym class whenever possible. I faked sprains and stomachaches. On three different occasions, I told them my parakeet died.”

His brows lifted. “That got you out of gym class?”

“The death of a parakeet is not an easy thing to get over, pal.”

“Did you even have a parakeet?” he asked gravely.

“He was a metaphorical parakeet.”

Laughter danced in his eyes. “Here, I’ll show you how to hold the club.” He reached around Zayn. “Wrap your fingers around the handle… No, left hand. Rest your thumb farther down the shaft… Perfect. Now take hold below with your right. Like this.” He shaped Zayn’s fingers around the grip. Zayn took an extra breath to make up for the one that had stuck in his throat. He could feel the rise and fall of Liam’s chest, the solid, vital strength of him. His mouth was close to Zayn’s ear. “Feet apart. Bend your knees a little and lean forward.” Releasing Zayn, he stood back and said, “Swing easy and follow through.”

Zayn swung, connected gently, and the ball rolled into the porthole with a satisfying plunk. “I did it!” he exclaimed, whirling to face Liam.

Liam smiled and caught Zayn close, his hands at Zayn’s tiny waist. Zayn looked up at him with his fine long lashes and time stopped, everything stopped. It seemed as if an electric current had locked up every muscle, and all Zayn could do was wait helplessly with the awareness of Liam flooding him.

His dark head lowered, and his mouth came to Zayn’s. Liam’s mouth swallowed Zayn’s and he had leaned to Liam cause he could feel his legs wobble a little, when Liam’s hard dick press against him.

In the privacy of Zayn’s imagination, he had relived Liam’s kisses, he had tasted them in his dreams. But nothing was close to the reality of Liam, the heat and soft, searching pressure, the intense sensuality of the way he brought up the desire slowly.

Gasping, Zayn managed to pull back. “Liam, I… I’m not comfortable with this, especially in front of your family. And my employees. Someone might get the wrong impression.”

“What impression would that be?”

“That there’s something going on between us.”

A series of expressions crossed his face: puzzlement, annoyance, mockery. “There’s not?”

“No. We’re friends. That’s all it is for now, and that’s all it’s ever going to be, and… I have to work.”

With that, Zayn turned and strode toward the house in a subdued panic, feeling more relieved with every footstep he could put between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fingers crossed for the next one, guys. I'll update soon. I'm sorry if anyone of you disappointed about swimming pool scene is not in this chapter. But it's in the next one. I must have jumbled two chapters. I'm sorry. :( Hope y'll forgiv me and i'll post next one soon as for making up for it. okay?. Cool..


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait.” Liam held the edge of the car door before he could close it. To his outrage, Liam didn’t look at all remorseful. “Are you going to answer when I call?” he asked.
> 
> “No.”
> 
> That didn’t seem to surprise him. “Then I’ll show up at your place.”
> 
> “Don’t even think about it. I’ve had enough of your manhandling.”
> 
> Zayn could tell from the way he chewed on his lip that he was trying to hold back a smart-ass comment. Losing the battle, he said, “If I’d manhandled you just a little longer, honey, you’d be a hell of a lot happier right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's another episode. This one is so much fun and it's all about Z and Liam. *Spoiler alerts*

The band played jaunty surfer-pop as guests began to arrive. In no time at all, the house and patio were packed. People swarmed around the buffet and went out to the boardwalk arcade for dessert. A bartender served tropical drinks at a grass hut near the pool, while waitstaff walked around with trays of ice water and glasses of nonalcoholic punch.

“The mini golf course is a hit,” Sofia said as they passed each other on the patio. “So is the dessert station. In fact, everything is a hit.”

“Any problems with Steven?” Zayn asked.

She shook her head. “Did you say anything to him?”

“I made it clear that anyone who disrespects you will be out on his ass.”

“We couldn’t afford to lose Steven.”

“Out on his ass,” Zayn repeated firmly. “No one talks to you like that.”

Sofia smiled at him. “Te amo.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Zayn stayed busy, taking care not to cross paths with Liam. A couple of times, when he passed by him, he could feel Liam trying to catch his gaze, but Zayn ignored him, afraid that Liam would pull him into a conversation. Afraid that his face would reveal too much or that he would say something foolish.

Seeing Liam in person forced Zayn to contend with him not as a friendly voice on the phone, but as a robust male who made no secret of the fact that he wanted him. Any notion Zayn might have had of trying for a platonic friendship with Liam was gone. He wasn’t going to settle for that. Neither would he let Zayn slip away without a confrontation. Zayn’s mind buzzed with ideas about how to handle him, what to say.

After lunch had been cleared and the caterers were washing dishes, Zayn found Sofia and Ree-Ann standing just outside the kitchen door, drinking glasses of iced tea. They stared intently in the direction of the pool, neither of them sparing him a glance.

“What are you two looking at?” Zayn asked.

Sofia made a shushing motion with her hand.

Following their gazes, he saw Liam emerging from the pool, shirtless and dripping. The sight of his athletic body, bronzed and taut, all those wet muscles gleaming in the sun, was spectacular. He shook his head like a dog, sending water drops flying.

“That is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” Ree-Ann said reverently.

“A papi chulo,” Sofia agreed.

Liam lowered to sit beside the pool as his nephew Luke came to him with an orange plastic water wing, the kind that slid over the upper arms. Liam pried open the valve on the plastic wing and blew air into it. Zayn noticed a neat diagonal surgical scar on his side, parallel to his ribs, extending upward almost to his back. The line was nearly invisible, only a shade or two darker than the surrounding skin, but Zayn could tell from the way the light hit it that the scar was slightly raised. After turning Luke around, Liam repeated the procedure on the other water wing.

“I wish he’d inflate my flotation devices,” Ree-Ann said wistfully.

“Can’t either of you find something productive to do?” Zayn asked in annoyance.

“We’re taking our ten-minute break,” Sofia said.

Ree-Ann shook her head in admiration as Liam stood, his board shorts riding low on his hips. “Mmmn. Look at that rear view.”

Scowling, Zayn muttered, “It’s not right to objectify men any more than it is for them to do it to us.”

“I’m not objectifying him,” Ree-Ann protested. “I’m just saying his ass is cute.”

Before Zayn could respond, Sofia said, “I think our break is over, Ree-Ann.” She was struggling to hold back a laugh.

The three of them went to work in the kitchen with the catering staff as they boxed up untouched food to be taken to a women’s shelter directly afterward. Glassware, dishes, and table accessories were washed and dried, table linens were put into laundry bags, the garbage was bagged, and the kitchen was scrubbed until it was spotless.

As the last of the party guests went inside to mingle with the family in the main room, Steven and Louis supervised the breakdown of the cabana tents and the dessert station, while the rest of the crew cleaned the pool and patio. After the caterers and cleanup staff had left, Zayn walked around to make certain they had left everything exactly as they’d found it.

“Zayn…” Sofia came out to the patio, looking satisfied but tired. “I just went through the house – it’s perfect. The Paynes are relaxing in the living room. Ree-Ann can drop me off at home, or I can stay here with you.”

“Go with Ree-Ann. I’ll ask Ella if there’s anything else they’d like me to do.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Sofia smiled. “I probably won’t be home when you get back. I’m going to the gym.”

“Tonight?” Zayn asked incredulously.

“There’s a new combo class with spinning and core training.”

He gave her an arch glance. “What’s his name?”

Sofia smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know yet. He always takes bike twenty-two. Last spin class, he challenged me to a race.”

“Who won?”

“He did. But only because I was distracted by his glutes.”

Zayn laughed. “Have a good workout.”

After Sophia left, Zayn continued to walk around the pool. Sunset wouldn’t occur for another couple of hours, but the low-slung light was already braised with the last red fire of day. he was hot and sticky, and his feet were sore from walking back and forth across the patio. Sighing, he slipped off his sandals and flexed his toes and arches.

As he glanced into the water, he noticed a small, brightly colored object at the bottom of the pool. It looked like a child’s toy. The cleanup crew had left by then; he was the only one outside. He walked to the shed where pool supplies were kept and found a long-handled net hung on a wall rack. It was the kind of net used for skimming debris. After fumbling to extend the telescoping handle to its fullest length, He crouched at the edge of the pool and sank the net as deep as he could. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long enough.

One of the patio doors opened and closed. Somehow Zayn knew it was Liam, even before he heard him ask casually, “Need a hand?”

“I’m trying to get something out of the pool,” Zayn replied. “It looks like a kid’s toy.” Standing, he offered the pool net to Liam. “Do you want to give it a try?”

“That won’t reach. It’s about fourteen feet deep. We used to have a diving board at that end.” Liam stripped off his shirt and dropped it to the sun-warmed tile.

“You don’t have to —” Zayn began, but Liam had already dived cleanly into the water, heading straight to the bottom with powerful, efficient strokes.

He emerged with a red-and-yellow toy car. “It’s Luke’s,” he said, setting it on the side. “I’ll take it in to him.”

“Thank you.”

Liam seemed in no hurry to get out of the pool. After pushing back his wet hair, he braced his folded arms on the tiled edge. Feeling that it would seem rude to just walk away, Zayn lowered himself to sit on his heels, bringing their gazes closer to the same level.

“Did Haven enjoy the party?” Zayn asked.

Liam nodded. “It was a good day for her. For all of us. The family doesn’t want to clear out yet – they’re talking about sending out for Chinese.” A brief hesitation. “Why don’t you stay and have dinner?”

“I should probably go home,” Zayn said. “I’m tired and sweaty. I wouldn’t be good company.”

“You don’t need to be good company. That’s the point of family: They have to tolerate you anyway.”

Zayn smiled. “It’s your family, not mine. Technically they don’t have to tolerate me.”

“They will if I want them to.”

Hearing a mockingbird’s raggedy cry, Zayn glanced at the distant tangle of trumpet vines and wax myrtle that bordered the bayou. Another mockingbird responded. Back and forth, one aggressive shriek after another.

“Are they fighting?” Zayn asked.

“Could be a boundary dispute. But this time of year, there’s still a chance they’re courting.”

“So it’s a serenade?” The birds shrieked with all the musicality of torn sheet metal. “God, how romantic.”

“It gets better when they reach the chorus.”

Zayn laughed and made the mistake of looking into Liam’s eyes. They were too close. Zayn could smell his skin, sun and salt and chlorine. Liam’s hair was disheveled, and he wanted to smooth the wet locks, play with them.

“Hey,” Liam said gently. “Why don’t you come in here with me?”

The look in his eyes sent a rush of hot color over Zayn’s face. “I don’t have a trunks.”

“Jump in with your clothes on. They’ll dry out.”

Zayn shook his head with a flustered laugh. “I can’t do that.”

“Then take them off and swim in your underwear.” His tone was practical, but Zayn saw the mischief in his eyes.

“You,” Zayn informed him, “are out of your mind.”

“Come on. It’ll feel good.”

“I’m not going to do something stupid with you just because it feels good.” After a pause, Zayn added with chagrin, “Again.”

Liam laughed in that soft way he had, smoky and deep in his throat. “Come in here.” He caught Zayn’s wrist lightly with one hand.

“There’s no way I’m… Hey.” Zayn’s eyes widened as he felt Liam exerting tension on his wrist. “Liam, I swear I’ll kill you —”

One gentle tug was all it required to pull Zayn off balance. He toppled forward with a little scream, into the water, readily enclosed in Liam’s waiting arms.

“Damn you!” Zayn began to splash him furiously, flailing. “I can’t believe you did that… Stop laughing, you idiot! “I…” Zayn went down a little bit, He saw Liam’s eyes went wide, minute felt strong tug in to Liam’s solid chest. “This is not funny!”

Snorting and chuckling, Liam grabbed Zayn with more pressure and pressed kisses wherever he could, on Zayn’s head and neck and ear. Zayn struggled indignantly, but his arms were too strong and his hands were everywhere. It was like wrestling an octopus.

“You are so damn cute,” Liam gasped, combing Zayn’s hair with his hands which covered his eyes. “Like a little wet cat. Sweetheart, don’t wear yourself out, you can’t kick someone underwater.”

As Liam played and Zayn struggled, they slid to deeper water, and Zayn’s feet left the bottom. Instinctively he clutched at Liam. “It’s too deep.”

“I’ve got you.” Liam was still standing, one arm locking low on Zayn’s hips. Some of his playfulness melted into concern. “Can you swim?”

“It would have been nice to ask before pulling me in,” Zayn said testily. “No, I can’t swim. And I don’t like deep water.”

“You’re safe.” He pulled Zayn closer. “I’d never let anything happen to you. Now that you’re in here, you might as well stay for a few minutes. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

It did, although Zayn wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

Zayn clothes turned virtually transparent, the wet cotton billowing and undulating like the fins of exotic sea creatures, he was glad he took his hoodie of while ago. One of Zayn’s hands encountered the diagonal scar at the side of Liam’s chest. Hesitantly, he let his fingertips follow the slight ridge.

“This is from the boat accident?”

“Uh-huh. Surgery for a blood clot and a partially collapsed lung.” One of his hands ventured beneath the drifting hem of Zayn’s sweater to find the bare skin of his waist. “You know what that whole damn experience taught me?” he asked softly.

Zayn shook his head, staring into Liam’s eyes, seeing reflected glimmers of sunset like tiny rushlights.

“Don’t waste a minute of your life,” Liam said. “Look for every reason you can to be happy. Don’t hold back, thinking you’ll have more time later… none of us can ever be sure about that.”

“That’s what makes life so scary,” Zayn said soberly.

Liam shook his head, smiling. “That’s what makes it great.” He lifted Zayn higher, closer, and his hands crept around Liam’s neck.

Just before his lips met Zayn’s, a sound attracted his attention. Liam glanced over his shoulder as someone approached. “What do you want?” he asked irritably.

Zayn startled as he heard Liam’s brother Jack’s laconic reply. “Heard someone holler.”

Mortified to be caught in the pool with nowhere to hide, Zayn shrank against Liam’s chest.

“Did Zayn fall in?” he heard Jack ask.

“No, I dunked him.”

“Nice move” came the deadpan reply. “Want me to bring y’all a couple of towels?”

“Yeah, later. For now, I’d like some privacy.”

“Sure thing.”

After Jack left, Zayn wriggled free from Liam and swam toward the shallow end. Liam kept pace with him, surging through the water with the ease of a dolphin. When Zayn could stand with the water at chest level, he stopped and turned to face Liam with a scowl. “I don’t like to be embarrassed. And I don’t like to be pulled into swimming pools!”

“Sorry.” He tried to look and sound contrite, with only limited success. “I wanted to get your attention.”

“My attention?”

“Yeah.” He moved around Zayn slowly, his gaze holding Zayn’s. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

“I was working.”

“And ignoring me.”

“All right,” he admitted, “I was ignoring you. I don’t know how we’re supposed to behave in front of people. I’m not even sure what we’re doing, and —” he broke off uneasily. “Liam, stop circling like that. I feel like I’m in the pool with a bull shark.”

Liam reached for him, pulling him forward until he was lifted off his feet, the momentum floating him against Liam. Pressing a scorching kiss to Zayn’s neck, he murmured, “I’d like to take a bite out of you.”

As Zayn tried to wriggle out of his arms, Liam gathered Zayn up, deliberately keeping him off balance. “Come back here.”

“What are you doing?”

“I want to talk to you.” He took Zayn to deeper water, where he was forced to cling to the hard slopes of his shoulders.

“About what?” Zayn asked anxiously.

“About the problem we’re having.”

“Just because I don’t want to have a relationship with you doesn’t mean I have a problem.”

“I agree. But if you wanted to have a relationship and you couldn’t because you were afraid of something… then you would have a problem. And it’d be my problem, too.”.

The skin of Zayn’s face tightened until he could feel his cheeks pulsing. “I want to get out of the pool.”

“Let me say something – just give me a couple of minutes – and then I’ll let you go. Deal?”

Zayn responded with a quick nod.

There was something spare and focused in the way Liam spoke. “Everyone has secrets they don’t want anyone to know. When you reckon all of it up… all those things we did or were done to us… all our sins and mistakes and guilty pleasures… those secrets are the sum of who we are. Sometimes you have to take a chance on letting someone in, because your gut tells you that person’s worth it. But then all bets are off. You have to trust them, and hope they won’t rip your heart out, and fuck it, sometimes you make the wrong call.” He paused. “But you have to keep taking chances on the wrong people till you find the right one. You quit too damn early, Zayn.”

Zayn felt suffocated and miserable. It didn’t matter that he was right; Zayn wasn’t ready for this. For him. “I’d like to get out now.” his voice came out thin and rickety.Liam began to tow him to the shallow end. “Have you ever looked yourself up online, honey?”

Bewildered, Zayn showok his head. “Steven handles most of the Internet stuff —”

“I don’t mean your business. I mean your own name. The first results page is all related to your work: some blogs that mention you, a link to a Pinterest board, that kind of stuff. But on the second page, there’s a link to an older article in a New York paper… about a groom who was jilted on his wedding day.”

Zayn felt himself turn bleach white.

Sometimes when he thought about that day, he could will himself into a state of detachment and view it as if it had happened to someone else. He tried to do that right now, but he couldn’t manage to put any distance between him and that memory. He couldn’t be detached about anything when Liam was holding him. And Liam was going to force him to explain how, on what should have been the happiest day of his life, he’d been rejected, abandoned, and humiliated in front of everyone whose opinion mattered to him. For a man with normal self-esteem, that day would have been devastating. For a man whose self-esteem hadn’t been all that robust to begin with, it had been annihilating.

Zayn closed his eyes as shame scalded every vein like poison. People who had experienced true shame didn’t fear death the way regular people did… they knew that death would be a lot easier to tolerate. “I can’t talk about it,” he whispered.

Liam guided Zayn’s wet head to his shoulder. “The groom called it off that morning,” he continued evenly. “No one would have blamed him for falling apart. But instead you started making calls. You changed all the plans you’d made, so you could donate the wedding reception – which you’d paid for – to a local charity. And you spent the rest of the day with two hundred homeless people, treating them to a five-course dinner with live music. You were a fine, generous man, and well rid of the asshole.”

It was a long time before Zayn could speak. Liam’s fingers shaped to Zayn’s skull and he kept his hand there, as if he were protecting him from something. Zayn needed this more than he would have believed, latched so securely against Liam that his body formed the necessary margin, the boundary between him and the rest of the world.

It was more intimate than sex, to have someone hold the broken pieces of you together like that.

Gradually, Zayn felt warmth coming back into his body, sensation returning until he was aware of Liam’s bare shoulder against his cheek, how hot and smooth the skin was. “I didn’t want it in the paper,” He said. “I asked the shelter not to say anything.”

“It’s hard to keep a gesture like that secret.” Turning his mouth to Zayn’s ear, he kissed it gently. “Can you tell me just a little, sweetheart? About what he said that morning?”

Zayn swallowed hard. “Brian called and told me he wouldn’t be at the ceremony. I thought he meant he was going to be late, so I asked if he was caught in traffic, and he said no, he wasn’t coming at all. I was so shocked, I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even ask why. He said he was sorry, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever loved me or even he’s in to guys… or maybe he’d loved me but it had just gone away.”

“bastard,” Zayn heard Liam mutter under his breath, gritting his teeth. Zayn shuddered. And then, ”If it’s real,” Liam said quietly, “it doesn’t go away.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what real is.”

They moved slowly through the water, turning, floating in a lazy push and pull. Zayn had no connection to anything except Liam, no contact with solid ground. He was in absolute control, leading him in a languid glide, and Zayn was lulled by the peculiar sensuality of it.

“Brian didn’t cheat on me, or anything like that,” He found himself saying. “He had a terrible lifestyle – no one who works on Wall Street should even try to have a relationship until they’re at least thirty. The schedule was insane. Eighty-hour workweeks, heavy drinking, no exercise, no spare time… Brian could never stop long enough to figure out what he really wanted.”

As Liam turned in a slow circle, Zayn found himself wrapping around him like a mermaid. “Sometimes you think you love someone,” He said, “but it’s really just that they’ve become a habit. At the last minute, Brian realized that was how he felt about me.”

Liam pulled Zayn’s arms around his neck, locking his fingers together at Liam’s nape. Zayn brought himself to look into his eyes, lost in the dark, steady heat. Their progress around the pool resumed, and he held on to him, drifting easily. Whatever Liam’s opinions were about Brian – and no doubt he had some strong ones – he kept to himself for now. He was quiet, waiting patiently for whatever Zayn might want to tell him. Somehow that made it easier to confide the rest, the part that only Sofia knew.

“I went to my father after Brian called,” Zayn said. “I’d paid for him to fly up from Texas, so he could walk me down the aisle. My mother was livid when she found out. She and I were never all that close – I think we were both relieved when I left home to go to school. I love her, but I’ve always known that something wasn’t right between us. She got married and divorced twice after Dad left us, but of all the men in her past, he was the one she hated the most. She always said that getting involved with him was the worst mistake she ever made. I don’t think she can ever look at me without thinking of me as the son of the mistake.”

They were in deep water now. Zayn tightened his arms around Liam’s neck, leaning his head against Liam’s solid chest. It felt nice.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Go on.”

“My mother said she wouldn’t come if Yasar was there. She said I had to choose between them. And I chose him. That was pretty much the end of our relationship – she and I have hardly talked since then. I’ve invited her to come to Houston and meet Sofia, but she always refuses.” he relaxed as Liam eased them to shallower water. “I don’t know why I wanted Yasar there so badly. He’d never done any of the things fathers were supposed to do. I guess I thought having him walk me down the aisle would make up for some of that. It felt like it would make everything right.”

Liam’s face was unreadable as he looked down at Zayn. “What happened when you told him that Brian had called off the wedding?”

“He gave me a tissue, and hugged me, and I remember thinking, This is my dad, and he’s here for me, and I can lean on him when I’m in trouble, and it might even be worth losing Brian to find that out. But then he said…”

“What?” Liam prompted when Zayn fell silent.

“He said, ‘Zayn, it was never going to last anyway.’ He told me that men weren’t cut out for monogamy – you know, the biological thing – and he said most people ended up disappointed with their partners. He said he wished someone had told him a long time ago that no matter how much in love you were – no matter how convinced you were that you’d found ‘the one’ – you would always find out when it was too late that you’d been lying to yourself.” Zayn smiled bleakly. “It was my father’s way of being kind. He was trying to help me by telling me the truth.”

“His truth. Not everyone else’s.”

“It’s my truth too.”

“The hell it is.” Liam’s voice had changed, no longer quite so patient. “You spend most of your time planning one wedding after another. You started a business doing that. Some part of you believes in it.”

“I believe in marriage for some people.”

“But not for yourself?” When it became clear that Zayn wasn’t going to reply, he said, “’Course you don’t. The two most important men in your life gave you a hell of a one-two punch, at a time when you couldn’t protect yourself.” Fervently he added, “I’d like to go back and kick both their asses.”

“You can’t. My father’s gone, and Brian’s not worth it.”

“I still might kick his ass someday.” Liam’s hold on him altered, his hands becoming bolder, more intimate. The sky had turned blood orange, the hot evening air pungent with lantana. “When do you think you’ll be ready to try another relationship?”

In the electric silence that followed, Zayn didn’t dare tell him what he really thought… that rehashing the sad, bitter memories had reminded him how much he wanted to avoid becoming involved with him, Liam. “When I find the right kind of man,” Zayn said eventually.

“What kind is that?”

Zayn tensed as he felt Liam’s fingers sliding beneath the hoodie he was wearing and hand slowly reaching for his nipple. “Independent,” Zayn said. “Someone who agrees that we don’t have to experience everything together. A guy who doesn’t mind if we have separate interests and separate friends, and separate households. Because I like a lot of alone time —”

“What you just described isn’t a relationship, Zayn. It’s friends with benefits.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind being part of a couple. I just don’t want a relationship to take over everything.”

They had stopped at the side of the pool, Zayn’s back to the wall. His toes wouldn’t quite touch the bottom, obliging him to cling to the hard slopes of his shoulders. Zayn dropped his gaze and found himself staring at Liam’s chest, mesmerized by the way the water had darkened and flattened the coarse hair.

“That sounds like the same setup you had with Brian,” Zayn heard him say.

“Not exactly the same,” He said defensively. “But yes, something like that. I know what’s right for me.”

Zayn felt a soft tug at his nipple, the thumb circling around the bud. Zayn had to bite his cheeks, prevent himself from moaning and to stop the urge to rub himself against Liam. Zayn gasped, eyes open, mouth slightly ajar, his legs churning in a search for traction. His hands slid to his back, underneath the underwear he was wearing, cupping one ass cheek hard. With the other hand caressing Zayn’s nipple under the water, teasing the hardening tips. In at any other moment Zayn would say how hot as fuck Liam’s strength was, butt now he couldn’t seem to find the right words. He pressed Zayn back against the wall, his thigh intruding between his. “Liam —” Zayn protested.

“Now it’s my turn to talk.” The sound of his voice in his ear was pure sin. “I’m the guy who’s right for you. I may not be what you’re looking for, but I’m what you want. You’ve been alone long enough, honey. It’s time for you to wake up with a man in your bed. Time for the kind of sex that lays you out, owns you, leaves you too shaky to pour your morning coffee.” Liam pulled him more fully against his thigh, the intimate pressure making Zayn weak with desire. “You’re going to have it every night, any way you want it. I have the time for you, and I sure as hell have the energy. I’ll make you forget every man you ever knew before me. The catch is, you have to trust me first. That’s the hard part, isn’t it? You can’t let anyone get too close. Because someone who knows you like that, he could hurt you —”

“That’s enough.” Zayn floundered and pushed at him clumsily, dying to make him shut up.

His head lowered, and he kissed the side of Zayn’s neck, using his tongue, making him squirm. In the middle of the twisting and splashing, he wedged both legs between Zayn’s and slid the both hands over his ass. His both hands could cover Zayn’s, which made him shiver. He whimpered as Liam pulled him up against Liam, there, making him feel how big he was, how ready, and all Zayn’s senses focused on that stiff, tantalizing pressure.

Gripping his hand in Zayn’s hair, Liam brought Zayn’s mouth to his and kissed him, deep and hungry. Putting his tongue inside Zayn’s savoring the taste. His other hand kept urging his hips closer, forcing Zayn to rub him in an erotic protean rhythm, and Zayn couldn’t believe how damned shameless he was, and how good he felt, his body so hot and hard against Zayn’s. He was deliberate, doing exactly as he pleased, feeding every sensation with raw lust.

As the pleasure climbed, Zayn couldn’t stand it anymore, he had to wrap his legs around him, his nerves screaming, yes, yes, now, and nothing mattered except his hands and mouth and body, the way Liam was taking him over, bringing more and more pleasure to his dazzled senses. All he wanted was to kiss him and writhe against that relentless heat. Zayn needed this so badly, the feeling that had begun to roll up to him with visceral force —

“Baby, no,” Liam said hoarsely, pulling away with a shiver. “Not here. Wait. This isn’t… no.”

Clinging to the side of the pool, Zayn stared at him with bewildered fury. he couldn’t think straight. He was throbbing in every limb with hard on. His brain was slow to process that they weren’t going to finish.

“You… you…”

“I know. I’m sorry. Hell.” Breathing heavily, he turned away, the muscles of his back bunched and sharply delineated. “I didn’t mean to take it that far.”

Zayn was temporarily incoherent with rage. Somehow this man had gotten him to confide in him until he was more vulnerable than he’d ever been with anyone, and then after driving him half-crazy with sexual frustration, Liam had called a halt at the last minute. Sadist. Zayn made his way toward the shallowest part of the pool and tried to fixed his shirt and joggers. But he was shaking and unsteady, and his wet shirt clung obstinately to his skin. Zayn struggled with the sopping mess.

Liam came up behind him and rummaged beneath the back of his shirt. “I promised we’d take it slow,” he muttered, fixing his shirt up. “But I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that now,” Zayn said vehemently. “Because I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, unless you were dangling off the edge of a cliff, and then I would use that pole to clobber you.”

“I’m sorry —” Liam began to put his arms around him from behind, but he shrugged him off and sloshed away in high dudgeon. He followed, continuing apologetically, “After our first time turning out like it did, I couldn’t let the second time happen in a swimming pool.”

“There’s not going to be a second time.” With effort, Zayn hauled himself out of the pool. The wet clothes felt as heavy as chain mail. “I’m not going into the house like this. I need a towel. And my purse, which is on one of the kitchen counters.” Zayn sat on a lounge chair, trying to look as dignified as possible while water streamed off him.

“I’ll get it.” Liam paused. “About dinner…”

Zayn gave him a withering glance.

“Forget dinner,” he said hastily. “I’ll be right back.”

After he had brought the towels and Zayn had dried off as much as possible, he walked to his car, with Liam at his heels. His hair was stringy and his clothes were clammy. The evening air was still warm, and he was overheated, almost steaming. As he sat in his car seat, he could feel the upholstery soaking up the water from his clothes. If his car interior turns moldy, he thought furiously, he is going to make him pay to have the seats re-covered.

“Wait.” Liam held the edge of the car door before he could close it. To his outrage, Liam didn’t look at all remorseful. “Are you going to answer when I call?” he asked.

“No.”

That didn’t seem to surprise him. “Then I’ll show up at your place.”

“Don’t even think about it. I’ve had enough of your manhandling.”

Zayn could tell from the way he chewed on his lip that he was trying to hold back a smart-ass comment. Losing the battle, he said, “If I’d manhandled you just a little longer, honey, you’d be a hell of a lot happier right now.”

Zayn reached for the car door and slammed it shut. Extending his middle finger, he flipped Liam off through the window. As he started the car, Liam turned away… but not before he saw the flash of his grin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bye, Zayn,” he said huskily.
> 
> Zayn watched with wide eyes as he headed to the door. “Liam…”
> 
> He paused with his hand on the knob, glancing over his shoulder.
> 
> “Aren’t you…” Zayn blushed before continuing, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you'll have a good laugh, reading this! :D
> 
> ps; I'm sorry for posting late but i had some personal problems going on with so, bear with me.

Sunday night went by without a word from Liam. So did Monday night. Zayn waited with growing impatience for him to call. he kept his cell phone with him at all times, pouncing on every call or text.

Nothing.

“I don’t give a damn if you call or not,” Zayn muttered, glaring at the silent phone on its charger. “I couldn’t be less interested, as a matter of fact.”

Which was a lie, of course, but it felt good to say it.

The truth was, Zayn couldn’t stop reliving those weightless floating moments with Liam in the swimming pool, the memory cringe-inducing and haunting and wildly pleasurable. The way he had talked to him… unsparing, sexual… he’d felt Liam’s words sinking inside him, right through his skin. And the promises he’d made… was any of that even possible?

The idea of letting go, with Liam, was terrifying. Feeling that much. Flying that high. Zayn didn’t know what would happen afterward, what internal mechanisms might be shattered by the altitude, how much oxygen would be robbed from his blood. Or if a safe landing was even an option.

On Tuesday morning, Zayn had to turn his full focus on Hollis Warner and her daughter, Bethany, who were visiting the studio for the first time. Ryan had proposed over the weekend, and from what Hollis had told me on the phone, Bethany had been delighted with the sand-castle proposal. The weekend had been romantic and relaxing, and the newly engaged couple had discussed possible wedding dates.

To Zayn’s consternation – and Sofia’s – the Warners wanted the ceremony to be held in four months.

“We’re on a time limit,” Bethany told him, her hand sliding to her flat stomach. “Four months is all we’ve got before I show too much for the kind of wedding dress I want.”

“I understand,” Zayn said, keeping his expression impassive. he didn’t dare look at Sofia, who was seated nearby with her sketch pad, but he knew she had to be thinking the same thing: No one could pull off a megawedding that fast. Every decent location would be booked up, and the same could be said for all the good vendors and musicians. “However,” Zayn continued, “a time frame that narrow is going to limit our options. Have you thought about having the baby first? That way —”

“No.” Bethany gave him a chilling blue-eyed glare. In the next moment her face relaxed, and she smiled sweetly. “I’m an old-fashioned girl. To me, the wedding has to come before the baby. If that means the wedding has to be a little smaller, Ryan and I are fine with that.”

“I’m not fine with a smaller wedding,” Hollis said. “Anything less than four hundred guests is not possible. This occasion is going to show the old guard that we’re a family to be reckoned with.” She gave Zayn a small smile that didn’t quite coordinate with her fierce, fixed stare. “This is Bethany’s wedding, but it’s my show. I just want everyone to remember that.”

This was not the first time Zayn planned a wedding in which people had brought different agendas to the table. But it was the first time the mother of the bride had been so blunt about wanting the occasion to be her show.

It couldn’t have been easy to grow up in the shadow of such a mother. Some children of dominating parents turned out to be timid and insecure, desperate not to attract attention. Bethany, however, seemed to be have been made in the same tough, diamond-hard mold. Although Bethany wanted a stylish wedding, it was clear that above all she desired expediency. Zayn couldn’t help wondering if she was worried about Ryan wriggling off the hook.

The pair sat side by side on the blue sectional, their legs crossed identically on the diagonal. Bethany was a gorgeous young woman, lean and lanky, her hair long, white blond, and stick straight. A large engagement solitaire glittered on her left hand as she draped her arm gracefully along the back of the sofa.

“Mother,” she said to Hollis, “Ryan and I have already agreed that we’re only going to invite guests that we have personal connections to.”

“What about my personal connections? An ex-president and first lady —”

“We’re not going to invite them.”

Hollis stared at her daughter as if she had just spoken in tongues. “Of course we are.”

“I’ve been to weddings with Secret Service, Mother. Bomb-sniffing dogs, the magnetometers, everything in lockdown for a five-mile radius… Ryan wouldn’t stand for it. There’s only so far I can push him.”

“Why isn’t anyone worried about pushing me?” Hollis asked, and laughed angrily. “Everyone knows the mother is in charge of the wedding. It’s all going to reflect on me.”

“That doesn’t mean you can bully everyone into doing what you want.”

“I’m the one being bullied. I’m the one everyone’s trying to sideline!”

“Whose wedding is this?” Bethany asked. “You had your own. Do you have to take mine too?”“Mine was nothing compared to this.” Hollis shot me an incredulous glance as if to convey how impossible her daughter was. “Bethany, do you know how much you have in your life that I didn’t get?”

“Of course I do. You never stop talking about it.”

“No one is being sidelined,” Zayn interceded hastily. “We all have the same goal, for Bethany to have the wedding she deserves. Let’s get the contractual obligations out of the way, and then we can start working on a master guest list. I’m sure we can find some ways to pare it down. We’ll consult with Ryan, of course.”

“Isn’t it up to me to decide —” Hollis began.

“I’m positive we can have Bethany featured as bride of the month in Southern Weddings and Modern Bride,” Zayn interrupted, trying to distract her.

“And Texas Bride,” Sofia added.

“Not to mention some local media coverage leading up to the wedding,” he continued. “First we’ll come up with a compelling narrative —”

“I know all that,” Hollis said irritably. “I’ve been interviewed dozens of times about my galas and fund-raisers.”

“Mother knows everything,” Bethany said in a saccharine tone.

“One of the most appealing angles to this story,” Zayn said, “is about a mother’s and daughter’s joy in planning a wedding together while the daughter is expecting her own child. That could be a great hook for —”

“We’re not going to mention the pregnancy,” Hollis said decisively.

“Why not?” Bethany asked.

“The old guard won’t approve. It used to be that these situations were covered up and kept quiet, which is still the best way, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Bethany retorted. “I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of, and I’m not going into hiding. I’m marrying the father of my child. If the old bitches don’t like it, they should try living in the twenty-first century. Besides, my bump is going to be obvious by the time the wedding takes place.”

“You’ll have to watch your weight, sweetheart. Eating for two is a myth. During my entire pregnancy, I only gained fifteen pounds. You’re already looking puffy.”

“Bethany,” Sofia broke in with artificial cheer, “you and I need to arrange a time to brainstorm ideas and color palettes.”

“I’ll come too,” Hollis said. “You’ll want my ideas.”

After the Warners had left the studio, Sofia and Zayn collapsed on the sectional and groaned in unison.

“I feel like roadkill,” he said.

“Are they going to act like this the whole time?”

“This is only the beginning.” Zayn stared up at the ceiling. “By the time we make it to the seating plan, blood will have been shed.”

“Who is the old guard?” Sofia asked. “And why does Hollis keep talking about him?”

“It’s not a him, it’s a them. An older, established group that wants everything to stay the same. There can be an old guard in a society, in politics, a sports organization, pretty much any group you can come up with.”

“Oh. I thought she meant someone in the army.”

It was probably because of the contentious meeting they’d just been through, and the sudden release from tension, but Sofia’s innocent remark struck him as irresistibly funny. He began to laugh.

A throw pillow came flying out of nowhere, hitting him in the face.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at what you said.”

Another pillow struck him. He sat up and fired it back at her. Giggling wildly, Sofia leapt over the back of the sofa. Zayn leaned over and whacked her with a pillow and ducked as she popped up to swat him again.

They were so busy that neither of them noticed the front door opening and closing.

“Uh… Zayn?” came Ell’s voice. “I brought sandwiches for lunch, and —”

“Just set it on the counter,” Zayn called, leaning over the back of the sofa to wallop Sofia. “We’re having an executive meeting.” Thwack.

Sofia launched a counterattack, while Zayn flung himself to the sofa cushions. Thwack. Thwack.

“Zayn.” A note in El’s voice caused Zayn’s sister to stop. “We have a visitor.”

Zayn lifted his head and peeked over the sofa back. His eyes widened as he saw Liam Payne standing there.

Mortified, Zayn dropped back out of sight. He lay back on the sofa, his heart thundering. Liam was here. He had shown up, as he’d said he would. Zayn felt light-headed. Why hadn’t he chosen a moment when he’d been composed and professional, instead of finding him in the middle of a pillow fight with his sister like a couple of twelve-year-olds?

“We were letting off steam,” Zayn heard Sofia say, still breathless.

“Can I watch?” Liam asked, making her laugh.

“I think we’re done now.”

Liam walked around the sectional and came to stand over Zayn as he lay on his back. Liam’s gaze skimmed briefly over the length of Zayn’s body. He was wearing another one of his shape but expensive suites, black and button-up. Although he usually wear the button to the tops, today he decided to open few of them due to hotness outside. Shirt is bedraggled making his chest is out on the air when he’d flopped onto the sofa.

Zayn couldn’t look at him without remembering the last time they’d been together, the way he’d writhed and kissed Liam and told him everything. Mortified color blanketed his head to toe. What made it worse was that Liam smiled as if he understood exactly what was causing his distress.

“You have great legs, you should wear those pants more,” Liam said as he reached down for Zayn, his fingers closing around Zayn’s. He was hauled to his feet with easy strength. “I told you I’d show up,” he murmured.

“A little more advance notice would have been nice.” Hastily Zayn pulled his hand away from Liam’s and buttoned up his into place. Inner Zayn was happy that he decided wear hair loosly .

“And give you a chance to run?” He pushed back a wave of hair that had fallen over Zayn’s eyes and tucked another behind his ear with unmistakable familiarity.

Conscious of Sofia’s and El’s interested regard, Zayn cleared his throat and said in a professional voice, “What can I help you with?”

“I came by to see if you wanted to go out to lunch. There’s a Cajun diner downtown – it’s not fancy, but the food is good.”

“Thank you, but El already brought sandwiches.”

“I didn’t bring anything for you, Zayn,” El called from the kitchen. “Just for me and Sofia.”

Like hell. Zayn looked around Liam’s shoulder, ready to El Val on it, but she ignored him, staying busy in the kitchen.

Sofia smiled at Zayn, her eyes mischievous. “Go have lunch, mi muchacho lindo” Deliberately she added, “Take as long as you want – your schedule is clear for the rest of the afternoon.”

“I had plans,” Zayn said. “I was going to look over everyone’s expense accounts.”

Sofia gave Liam an imploring glance. “Keep him away as long as possible,” she said, and he laughed.

“I’ll do that.”

The Cajun diner was lined with a counter and steel-framed stools on one side and a row of booths on the other. The atmosphere was agreeably boisterous, the air filled with brisk conversation, the scrape of flatware on melamine plates, and the rattling of ice cubes in tall glasses of sweet tea. Waitresses carried plates filled with steaming food… étouffée thick with plump crawfish tails, ladled over patties of grits fried in butter… po’boy rolls stuffed with lobster and shrimp.

To Zayn’s relief, their conversation stayed in safe territory, with no mention of their last encounter. As Zayn described the meeting with the Warners, Liam was amused and sympathetic.

The waitress brought out our order, two plates of pompano that had been stuffed with shrimp and crabmeat and baked in foil pouches with a butter-and-wine velouté sauce. Every bite was creamy and tender, melting luxuriously on his tongue.

“I have an ulterior motive for asking you out today,” Liam said as they ate. “I need to stop by an animal shelter and take some pictures of a couple of new dogs. Want to come and help?”

“I’ll try… but I don’t think I’m good with dogs.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

“No, I’ve just never been around them.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll tell you what to do.”

After lunch, they drove to the shelter, a small brick building with abundant windows and crisp white trim. A sign featuring cartoon cats and dogs read “Happy Tails Rescue Society.” Liam pulled a camera bag and a duffel bag from the back of his Jeep, and they walked into the shelter. The lobby was bright and cheerful, featuring an interactive screen where visitors could browse through photos and descriptions of available animals.

An elderly man with a shock of white hair came from behind the counter to greet them, his blue eyes twinkling as he shook hands with Liam. “Millie called you about the latest group?”

“Yes, sir. She said four had been sent by a city shelter.”

“Another one arrived this morning.” The man’s friendly gaze turned to Zayn.

“Zayn, this is Dan,” Liam said. “He and his wife, Millie, built this place five years ago.”

“How many dogs do you keep here?” Zayn asked.

“We average about a hundred. We try to take the ones that other places have trouble adopting out.”

“We’ll go to the back and set up,” Liam said. “Bring out the first one whenever you’re ready, Dan.”

“You bet.”

Liam led Zayn to an exercise area in the back of the building. The room was spacious, the rubber floor designed like a black-and-white checkerboard. One wall was lined with a low-slung red vinyl sofa. There was a basket of dog toys and a plastic children’s playhouse with a ramp.

After taking a Nikon from a camera bag, Liam attached a lens and adjusted the exposure and scene modes. All of it was accomplished with the quickness and ease of someone who’d done it a million times before. “First I take a couple of minutes to get to know the dog a little,” he said. “Some of them are nervous, especially if they’ve been neglected or abused. The important thing to remember is not to approach a dog directly and step into his space. He’ll see that as a threat. You’re the pack leader – the follower is supposed to come to you. No eye contact at first, just stay calm and ignore him until he gets used to you.”

The door opened, and Dan led in a large black dog with raggedy ears. “This here’s Ivy,” he said. “A Lab-retriever mix. Blinded in one eye after she got caught into a bobwire fence. No one can get a good picture because of the coloring.”

“Solid black is tricky for lighting,” Liam said. “Do you think she can handle it if I bounce a flash from the ceiling?”

“Sure, Ivy was a gun dog. A flash won’t bother her a bit.”

Setting aside the camera, Liam waited as Ivy came to sniff his hand. He petted her and scratched her neck. Her one good eye closed in ecstasy, and she panted happily. “Who’s a good girl?” Liam asked, lowering to his haunches, rubbing her chest and neck.

Ivy padded over to the basket of toys, pulled out a stuffed gator, and brought it to Liam. He tossed the toy into the air, and Ivy caught it deftly. She brought the toy back, her tail wagging enthusiastically, and the process was repeated a few more times. Eventually Ivy dropped the toy and wandered toward Zayn, sniffing curiously.

“She wants to meet you,” Liam said.

“What should I do?”

“Stand still and let her smell your hand. Then you can rub under her chin.”

Ivy sniffed a fold of Zayn pants, and then her cold nose touched against his hand. “Hello, Ivy,” Zayn murmured, stroking her beneath the chin and on her chest. The dog’s jaw relaxed and she sat promptly, her tail thumping the floor. Her one good eye closed as he continued to pet her.

At Liam’s direction, Zayn held a reflector board while he took some shots of Ivy. She turned out to be a willing photography subject, lounging on the red sofa with a toy between her paws.

Three more dogs were brought out in turn, a beagle mix, a Yorkshire terrier, and a short-haired Chihuahua that Dan said would be the most difficult to adopt out. She was beige and white, with an adorable face with big, soft eyes, but she had two things going against her: She was ten years old, and toothless.

“Her owner had to go into assisted living,” Dan explained, carrying the tiny creature into the room. “Dog’s teeth went bad and every last one had to be pulled.”

“Can she survive with no teeth?” Zayn asked.

“As long as she gets soft food.” Carefully, Dan set the Chihuahua on the floor. “Here you go, Coco.”

The dog looked so fragile that he felt a pang of concern. “How long do they usually live?”

“This one might could last five years, maybe more. We’ve got a friend whose Chi lived to be eighteen.”

Coco surveyed the three of them uncertainly. Her tail wagged once, twice, in a hopeful gesture that caused a sharp twinge in Zayn’s heart. To his surprise, she came to him in a fit of bravery, miniature feet pattering on the floor. Zayn leaned down to pick her up. She weighed nothing; it was like holding a bird. He could feel her heart beating against his fingers. As she strained to lick his chin, He could see hairline cracks at the tip of her tongue.

“Why is her tongue so dry?” he asked.

“She can’t hold it in because of the missing teeth.” Dan left the room, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll let y’all get to work.”

Zayn carried the Chihuahua to the sofa and placed her on it carefully. Her ears drooped and her tail tucked between her legs. Staring up at me, she began to pant in distress.

“Everything’s okay,” Zayn encouraged, backing away. “Stay still.”

But Coco looked increasingly worried, creeping to the edge of the sofa as if preparing to jump and follow him. Zayn returned and sat on the sofa. As he petted her, she crawled into his lap and tried to curl up. “What a love sponge,” Zayn said, laughing. “How do I make her sit by herself?”

“I have no idea,” Liam said.

“I thought you knew how to handle dogs.”

“Sweetheart, there’s no way I could convince her that a cold vinyl seat is better than your lap. If you’ll keep holding her, I’ll zoom the shots and make the depth of field as shallow as possible.”

“So the background will be blurry?”

“Yes. See if you can get her to relax. With her ears flattened like that, she looks scared.”

“What do you want her ears to do?”

“See if you can get them perked up and facing forward.”

Zayn held Coco in different poses, calling her a sweetheart, an angel, a sugar-pie, saying if she behaved, he would give her all the treats she wanted. “Are her ears perked up now?” he asked.

Liam’s mouth twitched. “Mine sure as hell are.” Lowering to his haunches, he took multiple shots, the camera shutter clicking nonstop.

“Do you think someone will adopt her?”

“I hope so. It’s not easy to get someone to take a senior dog. Not much time left, and health problems on the horizon.”

Coco looked up at Zayn with shining eyes and a gummy grin. he felt a sinking sensation as he thought of what would probably happen to this vulnerable, not-pretty creature.

“If life were simpler…,” Zayn heard himself say, “if I were another kind of person… I’d take her home with me.”

The shutter clicks stopped. “Do you want to?”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t.” Zayn was surprised by the plangent sound of his own voice.

“That’s okay.”

“I have no experience with pets.”

“I understand.”

Zayn held Coco up and looked at her. She regarded him earnestly with that little-old-lady face, paws dangling, tail wagging in midair. “You have too many problems,” he told her.

Liam approached, looking amused. “You don’t have to take her.”

“I know. It’s just…” Zayn let out a tight, disbelieving laugh. “Somehow I can’t stand the idea of walking away from her.”

“Leave her here and think about it overnight,” Liam said. “You can always come back tomorrow.”

“If I don’t take her now, I won’t come back.” He held her in his lap, smoothing her fur, wondering what to do. She curled up into a little donut and closed her eyes.

Liam sat next to him, sliding an arm around his shoulders. He stayed silent, letting him think it through.

“Liam?” He asked after a couple of minutes.

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Can you give me a practical reason for taking this dog home with me? Anything at all? Because she’s not big enough to protect me, and I don’t need her as a service dog or to herd sheep. So give me a reason. Please.”

“I’ll give you three. One, a dog will give you unconditional love. Two, having a dog reduces stress. Three…” His arm slid away, and he turned Zayn’s face toward his, his thumb stroking the edge of his jaw. He looked into Zayn’s eyes and smiled. “Hell, do it because you want to,” he said.

On the way back home, they stopped at a pet store for some basic supplies. Along with the basics, Zayn bought a tote with mesh panels on the sides and a soft padded interior. As soon as he put Coco inside, she poked her head through an opening at the top and looked around. He was now a man with a purse-dog, except that instead of a fluffy Pomeranian or a teacup poodle, his was a toothless Chihuahua.

The studio was empty and silent when they arrived. Liam carried his purchases in from the car, including a pet crate and a case of premium canned dog food. Zayn arranged a foam mat and a soft blanket in the crate. Coco crawled in eagerly.

“I’d like to give her a bath,” Zayn said, “but she’s had enough excitement for now. I’ll let her adjust to her new surroundings.”

Liam set the dog food on the counter. “You sound like an expert already.”

“Ha.” Zayn began to stack cans in the pantry. “Sofia’s going to kill me. I should have asked her before doing this. Except that she would have said no, and I would have brought Coco home anyway.”

“Tell her I pressured you.”

“No, she knows I wouldn’t do this unless it was something I really wanted. But thanks for offering to take the rap.”

“Anytime.” Liam paused. “I’ll head out now.”

Zayn turned to face him, his nerves humming with anticipation as he approached. “Thanks for lunch,” he said.

Liam’s warm gaze swept over him. “Thanks for helping at the shelter.” He reached around Zayn, bringing him against a wealth of hard muscle. Zayn’s hands crept up his back. The clean, earthy scent of him was becoming familiar, and it was a thousand times better than cologne. Finishing the hug, he let go.

“Bye, Zayn,” he said huskily.

Zayn watched with wide eyes as he headed to the door. “Liam…”

He paused with his hand on the knob, glancing over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you…” Zayn blushed before continuing, “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

A slow grin crossed his face. “Nope.” And he left, closing the door gently behind him.

While he stared at the door with astonished indignation, Coco ventured cautiously out of her crate.

“What is this?” He asked aloud, pacing in a tight circle. “He takes me out for lunch and brings me back with a secondhand Chihuahua, and on top of that, no kiss good-bye or any mention of when or if he’s going to call… What kind of game is he playing? Was this even a date?”

Coco watched him expectantly.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” he pointed to a corner of the kitchen. “Your bowls are over there.”

She didn’t move.

“Want to watch some TV?” he asked.

Her spindly tail wagged.

After scrolling through channels on the flat-screen TV, Zayn found an episode of a telenovela that Sofia and he had been following. Despite the eye-rolling theatrics and the eighties-style hair and makeup, the story was as addictive as crack. Usually he’s prefer to watch latest mavels tv show, the punisher but He had to find out how it ended.

“Telenovelas teach important life lessons,” Sofia had once told him. “For example, if you’re in a love triangle with two handsome men who never wear shirts, remember that the one you reject will become a villain and plot to destroy you. And if you’re beautiful but poor and mistreated, you were probably switched at birth with another baby who has taken your rightful place in a powerful family.”

Zayn entertained himself by reading the English subtitles to Coco, infusing high emotion in the dialogue: “I swear you will pay dearly for this outrage!” and “Now you must fight for your love!” While misting Coco’s tongue with Evian spray during the commercial, he said, “Wait a minute, you don’t need translation. You’re a Chihuahua. You already speak Spanish.”

Hearing the front door open and close, Zayn glanced over the back of the sofa. Sofia came in, looking demoralized.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Remember the guy in spin class?”

“Bike twenty-two?”

“Uh-huh. We went out for drinks.” She heaved a sigh. “It was awful. The conversation kept stalling. It was more boring than watching bananas ripen. All he does is exercise. He doesn’t like to travel because it interferes with his workout schedule. He doesn’t read books or keep up with the news. But the worst thing was that he kept looking at his phone for an entire hour. What kind of guy reads his phone and texts during a date? Finally I put a twenty-dollar bill on the table to pay for my share of the drinks, and said, ‘I don’t want to interfere with your phone time,’ and I left.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Now I can’t even enjoy watching his glutes during spin class.” Sofia plugged her phone into a charger on the counter. “How did your lunch go?”

“Great food.”

“What about Liam? Did you have a good time? Was he charming?”

“It was fun,” Zayn said. “But I have something to confess.”

She gave him an expectant glance. “Yes?”

“After lunch, we went shopping.”

“For what?”

“A bed and a dog collar.”

Her brows lifted. “That’s a little kinky for a first date.”

“The bed and dog collar are for an actual dog,” He said.

Sofia’s face went blank. “Whose?”

“Ours.”

His sister walked around the sofa. Her incredulous gaze dropped to the Chihuahua in his lap. Coco shrank back against him, trembling.

“This is Coco,” Zayn said.

“Where’s the dog? All I see is a mole rat with bulging eyes. And I can smell her from here.”

“Don’t listen to her,” He told Coco. “You just need a better stylist.”

“I asked you once if I could get a dog and you said it was a terrible idea!”

“I was right. It’s a terrible idea if we’re talking about a regular-sized dog. But this one is perfect.”

“I hate Chihuahuas. Three of my aunts have them. They need special food and special collars and special stairs to get on the couch, and they pee five hundred times a day. If we get a dog, I want one that can go running with me.”

“You don’t run.”

“Because I don’t have a dog.”

“Now we do.”

“I can’t run with a Chihuahua! She would drop dead after a half mile.”

“So would you. I’ve seen you run.”

Sofia looked infuriated. “I’m going to go out and buy a dog too. A real dog.”

“Fine, go get one. Bring home a half dozen.”

“Maybe I will.” She scowled. “Why is her tongue hanging out like that?”

“She has no teeth.”

Their gazes clashed in the charged silence.

“She can’t keep her tongue in,” He continued, “so it’s chronically dry. But a lady at the pet store suggested massaging it with some organic coconut oil every night, and misting it with water throughout the day – Why is that funny?”

Sofia had started to choke with laughter. In fact, she could barely talk, she was snorting and wheezing so hard. “You have such high standards. You love beautiful, tasteful things. And this dog is so ugly and scraggly, and… Dios mío, she’s a lemon.” Sitting beside him, she reached out to let Coco smell her hand. Coco sniffed daintily and let Sofia pet her.

“She’s not a lemon,” he said, “she’s jolie laide.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a term for a woman who’s not conventionally beautiful, but she’s beautiful in a unique way. Like Cate Blanchett or Meryl Streep.”

“Did Liam talk you into this? Are you doing it to make him think you’re compassionate?”

He gave her a haughty glance. “You know that I’ve never wanted anyone to think of me as compassionate.”

Sofia shook her head in resignation. “Come here, Meryl Streep,” she said to Coco, trying to coax her out of his lap. “Ven aquí, niña.”

Coco shrank back, panting anxiously.

“An asthmatic lemon,” Sofia said, settling back in the corner of the couch with a sigh. “My mother’s coming to visit tomorrow,” she said after a moment.

“God, is it that time again?” He made a face. “Already?”

Every two or three months, Sofia’s mother, Alameda, drove from San Antonio to visit for a night. These occasions always consisted of hours of relentless interrogation about Sofia’s friends, her health, her work, and her sexual activities. Alameda had never forgiven her daughter for moving so far away from the family and for ending a relationship with a young man named Luis Orizaga.

Sofia’s entire family had tried to pressure her to marry Luis, whose parents were respectable and had money. According to Sofia, Luis had been overbearing and egotistical, and terrible in bed, besides. Alameda blamed me for helping Sofia to leave Luis and start a new life in Houston. As a result, Sofia’s mother could barely bring herself to be civil in his presence.

For Sofia’s sake, he tried to be nice to Alameda. On one level he felt sympathy for her, as he would for anyone whom his father had hurt. However, the way she treated Sofia was hard to tolerate. Since Alameda couldn’t vent her anger on her ex-husband, she had made their daughter the scapegoat. he knew all too well how that felt. Sofia was always depressed for a day or two after her mother visited.

“Is she staying here?” he asked Sofia.

“No, she doesn’t like sleeping on our pullout. It hurts her back. She’s checking into the hotel tomorrow afternoon, and coming here for dinner at five.”

“Why don’t you take her out to eat?”

Sofia rested her head on the back of the couch and rolled it in a slow negative shake. “She wants me to cook so she can tell me everything I’m doing wrong.”

“Do you want me to leave while she’s here?”

“It would be better if you stayed.” With a halfhearted smile, Sofia said, “You’re good at deflecting some of the arrows.”

“As many as I can,” he said, feeling a rush of love for her. “Always, Sofia."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for commenting and for the kudos. love you all :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just enjoy, I guess???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, I'm so sorry for posting so late, but i really didn't get the chance to update between college and my internship and everything. I hope you guys will not be upset with me. and i really hope that you'll enjoy this chapter.

After brainstorming and mulling over ideas, Sofia had come up with two concepts for the Warner wedding. The first was a traditional formal wedding, perfectly feasible and impressive. Following a grand ceremony at Memorial Drive Methodist, a fleet of pearl-white limos would transport the guests to a crystal-and-roses ballroom reception at the River Oaks Country Club. It would be tasteful and elegant, the kind of affair that everyone would expect. But not the one they wanted the Warners to choose.

The second wedding plan was a knockout. The location was the Filter Building at White Rock Lake, near Dallas. The historic building was a spectacular lakefront industrial design, with corbeled brick and exposed iron trusses and big windows overlooking the lake. It was almost a guarantee that Ryan would love the location, which would appeal to his architectural taste.

Inspired by the Depression-era building, Sofia had conceived of a lavish Gatsbyesque wedding in creams, tans, and gold, with bridesmaids wearing drop-waist dresses and ropes of beads and the men in dinner suits. The tables would be covered in beaded fabric, and the flower arrangements would feature orchids and plumes. Guests would be transported from a hotel in Dallas to White Rock Lake in a succession of vintage Rolls-Royces and Pierce-Arrows.

“We’ll make it fresh,” Sofia said. “Fancy but modern. We want it to be inspired by the Jazz Age without making it too accurate, or it will look like a costume party.” The team at the studio all loved the Gatsbyesque concept.

Everyone except Steven.

“You all know that Gatsby is a tragic story, right?” he asked. “Personally I wouldn’t care for a wedding based on themes of power, greed, and betrayal.”

“What a shame,” Sofia said. “It would be so perfect for you.”

El interrupted before they could start bickering. “The Great Gatsby is one of those books that everyone’s heard of but no one reads.”

“I did,” Steven said.

“Required high school reading?” Sofia asked disdainfully.

“No, for my own enjoyment. It’s called literature. You should try it sometime, if you ever manage to tear yourself away from those Spanish soap operas.”

Sofia’s brows lowered. “You’re a fine one to judge, with all the silly sports games you watch.”

“That’s enough, you two,” Zayn interceded, giving Steven a blistering glance.

He ignored Zayn, picking up his phone. “I’m going to make a couple of calls. I’ll be outside. I can’t hear with all of you yammering.”

“Go easy on him today,” Louis suggested as soon as Steven wandered out of earshot. “He and his girlfriend broke up over the weekend.”

Sofia’s eyes widened. “He has a girlfriend?”

“They just started going out a couple of weeks ago. But on Sunday, they were watching football at his place, and all of a sudden she turned down the volume and told Steven she didn’t think they should see each other again, because he was emotionally unavailable.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked if they could wait to talk about it until half-time.” At our looks of disgust, Louis said defensively, “We were playing the Cowboys.”

The doorbell rang.

“It’s Mamá,” Sofia muttered.

“All hands to their battle stations,” Zayn said, only half kidding. Since everyone at the studio had encountered Alameda on previous occasions, they wasted no time in collecting their belongings quickly. No one had any desire to make small talk with a woman who was so utterly humorless. Every conversation with her was the same, a litany of complaints concealed within complaints, like a set of toxic Russian nesting dolls.

Sofia stood, tugged at the hem of her turquoise top, and went reluctantly to welcome her mother. She squared her shoulders before opening the door and saying brightly, “Mamá! How was the drive? How was —”

Breaking off abruptly, Sofia backed up as if confronted with a rearing cobra. Without thinking, Zayn leapt from the sofa and went to her. His sister’s face was leached of color except for bright pink streaks across the crest of each cheek, like signal flags sent up for a panic alert.

Alameda Cantera was at the threshold, looking the same as always, her eyes stony and her mouth set with the bitterness of someone who had been defrauded by life. Alameda was an attractive woman, her figure small and trim in a suit jacket and hot-pink blouse and trouser jeans. The wealth of jet-black hair was pulled tightly back from her face and pinned into a controlled bun at her nape. It was an unfortunate style for someone whose hard features could have used some softening around the edges. But when Alameda had been young, before Eli had soured her, she must have been beautiful.

She had brought someone with her, a young man still in his twenties. He was black-haired, a bit heavyset, his short but muscular frame clad in pressed khakis and a crisp button-down shirt. Although he was handsome, his expression conveyed an impression of smug, sly machismo that Zayn instinctively disliked.

“Zayn,” Sofia said, “this is Luis Orizaga.”

Holy shit, he thought.

Even knowing Alameda, Zayn couldn’t believe she had brought her daughter’s ex-boyfriend here, uninvited and very unwelcome. Although Luis had never been physically abusive, he had dominated Sofia in every other way, determined to extinguish every spark of independence.

Apparently, it had never occurred to Luis that Sofia might not have been happy in the relationship. It had been a shock to him when she had ended their engagement and moved to Houston to start a business with Zayn. Luis had gone into a monthlong rage that had involved heavy drinking, multiple bar fights, and broken furniture. Less than a year later, he’d married a seventeen-year-old girl. They’d had a child, Alameda had informed Sofia peevishly, and had gone on to say that it should have been her grandchild, and Sofia should be having babies.

“Why are you here?” Sofia asked Luis. She sounded so young and vulnerable that Zayn was tempted to push her behind him and snap at the pair in the doorway to leave her alone.

“I invited Luis to come with me,” Alameda replied, aggressively cheerful, her eyes birdlike. “It’s lonely to drive all that way by myself, which I have to do since you never come to visit me, Sofia. I told Luis that he never left your heart – that’s why you’ve stayed single.”

“But you’re married,” Sofia said, giving Luis a bewildered glance.

“We’re divorced now,” he said. “I gave my wife too much. I was too good to her. All that spoiling made her want to leave me.”

“Of course it did,” Zayn couldn’t resist saying acidly.

His comment was roundly ignored.

“I have a son named Bernardo —” Luis told Sofia.

“The most beautiful child,” Alameda chimed in.

“He’s almost two years old,” Luis continued. “I have him every other weekend. I need help to raise him.”

“You are the luckiest girl in the world, mija,” Alameda said to Sofia. “Luis has decided to give you another chance.”

Zayn turned to Sofia. “You’ve hit the jackpot,” he said dryly.

She was too shaken to smile. “You should have asked me first, Luis,” she said. “I told you when I left Houston that I didn’t want to see you again.”

“Alameda explained everything,” he replied. “Your sister talked you into moving away when you were grieving your father’s death. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

 

Zayn opened his mouth to protest, but Sofia made a shushing motion without even looking at me. “Luis,” she said, “you know why I left. I’ll never go back to you.”

“Things are different. I’ve changed, Sofia. I know how to make you happy now.”

“She’s already happy,” Zayn burst out.

Alameda gave him a dismissive glance. “Zayn, this does not concern you. It’s a family matter.”

“Don’t be rude to Zayn,” Sofia said, flushing angrily. “He is my family.”

A rapid volley of Spanish ensued, all three of them speaking at once. Zayn couldn’t follow more than a few words. In the background, Ree-Ann, El, and Louis waited with their bags and laptops.

“Need help?” Louis asked meaningfully.

Grateful for his presence, Zayn murmured, “Not sure yet.”

Sofia looked increasingly distressed as she tried to defend herself. Zayn inched closer, longing to intervene on her behalf. “Could we do this in English, please?” he asked crisply. No one appeared to have heard. “The fact is,” he tried again, “Sofia has a great life here. A successful career. She’s an independent woman.” When none of that had any discernible effect, he added, “She has a new man.”

To his satisfaction, an abrupt silence descended.

“That’s right,” Sofia said, seizing on the excuse. “I have a man, and we’re engaged.”

Alameda’s eyes narrowed into spider-lashed slits. “You never said anything about him before. Who is he? What is his name?”

Sofia’s lips parted. “He’s —”

“Excuse me,” Steven said, shouldering his way back into the studio through the half-open door. He paused with a quizzical frown, glancing at our blank faces in the fraught silence. “What’s going on?”

“Querido,” Sofia exclaimed, and flung herself at him.

Before Steven could react, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tugged his head down, and pressed her mouth against his.

Taken by surprise, Steven froze as Sofia kissed him. Zayn held his breath, silently willing him not to shove her away. His hands, suspended in the air as if by marionette strings, descended by slow degrees to her shoulders. Take pity on her, Steven, he thought desperately. Just this once.

But Steven’s reaction had nothing to do with pity. His arms slid around her, and he began to kiss her as if he never wanted to stop. As if she were a dangerously addictive substance that had to be handled with care, rationed slowly, or he might die from a fatal overdose. The concentrated hunger of that blind, impassioned kiss seemed to radiate outward and heat up the entire room.

Somewhere behind Zayn, he heard a thud on the floor. Louis had dropped his laptop. He and the two interns stared at the entwined couple with slack-jawed astonishment.

Bending to retrieve the laptop, Louis reported, “It’s okay. Fell on the carpet. Not even dinged.”

“Nobody cares,” Ree-Ann said, her dumbfounded gaze still locked on Steven and Sofia.

“You can all go now,” Zayn told them, pointing in the direction of the back door.

“I forgot to clean the coffeemaker,” El said.

“I’ll help,” Ree-Ann added.

“Out,” Zayn commanded.

Reluctantly, they all shuffled through the kitchen and out the back entrance, glancing repeatedly over their shoulders.

Abruptly, Steven broke the kiss and shook his head as if to clear it. His gaze went from Sofia’s flushed face to the pair at the door. “What the —”

“Mamá is here to visit,” Sofia told him hastily. “She brought my old boyfriend Luis.”

Zayn’s hands clenched as he waited for Steven’s reaction. He knew enough about Sofia’s past to understand how devastating the situation was. If he’d ever wished for an opportunity to humiliate Sofia… no, decimate her, it had just been handed to him.

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Sofia continued, her desperate gaze locked on his. “Mamá thought there was a chance that I would go back to Luis, so she talked him into coming here with her. But I was just starting to explain that it’s not possible, because… because…”

“You and I are together,” Steven said, the last word tipped with a faint questioning note.

Sofia nodded vigorously.

“I’ve seen him before,” Alameda said to Sofia in an accusatory tone. “He works here. You don’t even like him!”

Zayn couldn’t see Steven’s face, but as he spoke, his voice was warm and wry. “It wasn’t love at first sight,” he conceded, keeping his arm around Sofia. “But the attraction was there from the beginning.”

“For me too,” Sofia said immediately.

“Sometimes when the feelings run deep,” Steven said, “it’s hard to know how to deal with them. And it’s not like Sofia was the kind of woman I ever thought I would fall in love with.”

Sofia looked up at him with a frown. “Why not?”

Staring into Sofia’s eyes, Steven began to play with a lock of her hair. “Let me count the ways: You’re an insufferable optimist, you start decorating for Christmas three months early, and you put glitter on anything that can’t run away from you.” His fingertips ran over the curve of her ear and caressed the side of her face. “When you get excited about a project, you start rubbing your hands together like a villain with an evil plan. You routinely eat peppers hot enough to make a normal person pass out. There are some words you never pronounce right. Salmon. Pajamas. Every time you hear a phone ring, you think it’s yours, except when it actually is yours. The other day I watched you park in front of the studio, and I could tell that you were singing at the top of your lungs.” He smiled slowly. “I’ve finally accepted that these are perfectly legitimate reasons to love someone.”

Zayn’s sister was speechless.

All of them were.

Steven tore his gaze from Sofia and reached out to shake Luis’s hand. “I’m Steven Cavanaugh,” he said. “I don’t blame you for wanting Sofia back. But she’s definitely taken.”

Luis refused to reciprocate, only folded his arms and glared.

“You didn’t ask for my permission,” Alameda snapped at Steven. “And Sofia has no ring. There is no engagement without a ring.”

Absorbing the information, Steven looked down at Sophia. “You… told her about the engagement,” he said slowly.

Sofia’s head dipped in a nervous bob.

“Technically, they’re engaged to be engaged,” Zayn broke in. “Steven was planning to discuss it with you tonight, Alameda. After dinner.”

“He can’t have dinner with us,” Alameda said. “I invited Luis.”

“I invited Steven first,” Sofia said.

“Enough!” Luis growled. He grabbed for Sofia. “I want to talk to you outside. Alone.”

Steven blocked the movement with a startling swiftness, knocking Luis’s arm away. “Back the fuck off,” he said in a tone that raised the hair on the back of Zayn’s neck. This was not at all like Steven, who prided himself on never losing his cool.

“Steven,” Sofia interrupted, trying to keep the situation from getting out of hand. “Querido mío, it’s fine, I… I’ll do what he wants. I can talk to him.”

Steven stared at Luis, his gaze hard. “She’s mine.”

Antagonism thickened the air as the two men faced each other. Zayn sorely regretted having sent Louis away. In the past he had done his share of breaking up fights, and this one promised to be a doozy. Zayn is sure he can do a fair share fight but three is always better than two.

“Luis,” Alameda said uneasily, “maybe you should go back to the hotel, and I’ll handle my daughter.”

“No one is going to handle me,” Sofia burst out. “I’m not a puppet. Mamá, when are you going to accept that I can make decisions for myself?”

Alameda’s mouth trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She fished in her handbag for tissues. “I’ve done everything for you. My whole life has been for you. I’m only trying to stop you from making so many mistakes.”

“Mamá,” Sofia said in exasperation, “Luis and I are wrong for each other.” Alameda was sobbing too loudly to hear. Sofia turned to Luis. “I’m sorry. I wish all the best for you and your son —”

“Eres babosa,” Luis exploded. From the way Sofia stiffened, Zayn knew it was an insult. He gestured toward Steven. “When he finds out how stupid and lazy you are, the way you lie in bed like a dead fish, he’ll throw you out. He’ll leave you fat and pregnant with his bastard, just like your father left Alameda.”

“Luis,” Alameda exclaimed, shocked out of her tears.

Luis continued bitterly, “Someday you’ll come crawling to me, Sofia, and I’ll tell you that it’s what you deserved for being so —”

“And that is absolutely all we need to hear about your opinions,” Zayn said briskly. Seeing that Steven was about to lose it, he strode to the door and shoved it wide open. “If you need a taxi, I’d be happy to call one for you.”

Luis stormed out without another word.

“How will he get back to the hotel?” Alameda asked in a watery voice. “We came in my car.”

“He’ll figure it out,” Zayn said.

Alameda blotted her eyes, which were surrounded with raccoonlike rings of mascara. “Sofia,” she whined, “you made Luis so angry. He didn’t know what he was saying.”

Biting back a sarcastic reply, Zayn put a hand on the older woman’s shoulder and guided her toward the back of the studio. “Alameda, there’s a powder room past the kitchen, down the hall to the left. You’ll probably want to fix your makeup.”

With a muffled exclamation, Alameda proceeded to the bathroom.

Zayn turned to discover that Sofia was in Steven’s arms. “… sorry to involve you,” she was saying in a miserable voice. “It was all I could think of.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Bending his head, Steven kissed her fully on the mouth, one hand at the back of her neck in a light cradling hold. I could hear her sharp intake of breath.

Flabbergasted, Zayn walked by them to the kitchen as if nothing untoward were happening. Mechanically, he began to unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher. “I’ll help with dinner,” he heard Steven say eventually. “What are we having?”

Sofia sounded dazed. “I can’t remember.”

For the rest of the evening, Steven was the picture of the perfect boyfriend. Zayn’d never seen him act like this before. Affectionate. Easygoing. he couldn’t tell how much of it, if any, was real. He insisted on helping Sofia cook, and before long Alameda and Zayn were sitting on bar stools at the counter, watching.

Steven and Sofia had spent countless hours working together, but they had never seemed comfortable in each other’s company. Until now. They had just discovered a new kind of together. They were finding the right level, warming to each other.

Having worked in her family’s restaurant, Sofia was an accomplished cook. Tonight she was making chicken mole, Alameda’s favorite dish. For an appetizer, Sofia set out a bowl of home-fried tortilla chips, delicately thin and crisp, along with salsa pureed into a smoky liquid that made Zayn’s tongue pulse with heat.

While Steven made margaritas, Zayn went to find Coco, and he brought her out to meet Alameda. Although Sofia’s mother and Zayn had almost nothing in common, they had finally found something to bond over. Alameda and every one of Sofia’s aunts adored Chihuahuas. She held Coco in her lap, cooed over her in Spanish, and admired her black and pink leather collar studded with rhinestones. Discovering that Zayn was a willing audience on all Chihuahua-related matters, Alameda proceeded to dispense feeding and grooming advice.

Steven tossed a salad made with fresh-roasted corn, crumbled white cheese, chopped cilantro, and a tangy, creamy lime dressing. “How does this look?” he asked Sofia.

She smiled and replied in passing as she went to the refrigerator.

“What was that?” he asked.

Sofia took out a container of coffee-marinated chicken. “I said maybe add a little more dressing.”

“I got that part. I was asking about the Spanish words. What did they mean?”

“Oh.” Blushing, Sofia set a heavy iron skillet on the cooktop. “Nothing. Just an expression.”

Steven put his hands on the counter, caging her from behind. Nuzzling her cheek, he murmured, “You can’t call me names and not tell me what they mean.”

Her color deepened. “It wasn’t a name, it was… well, it makes no sense when I translate.”

He wouldn’t relent. “Tell me anyway.”

“Media naranja.”

“Which is?”

“Half of the orange,” Alameda said. A frown pleated her forehead as she reached for her margarita glass. “We say it to mean ‘better half.’ Soul mate.”

Steven’s expression was difficult to interpret. But he lowered his head and kissed Sofia’s cheek before moving away. Sofia began to stir the contents of a nearby pot without seeming to be entirely aware of what she was doing.

If Alameda had any doubts about whether or not the relationship was genuine, Zayn was fairly certain they had just vanished. Steven and Sofia were damned convincing as a couple. Which worried him. With the Warner wedding still ahead of them, this was not the time for a tempestuous relationship and all the accompanying Sturm und Drang.

There was also a chance that Steven would revert to his regular self tomorrow morning. As well as Zayn knew Steven, he couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind. Would he totally compartmentalize this entire experience? No doubt Sofia was wondering about that, too.

The chicken turned out to be a masterpiece, bathed in a velvety dark sauce of unsweetened Oaxacan chocolate, spices, and the earthy heat of guajillo chiles. Steven exerted himself to be charming, readily answering Alameda’s questions about his parents, who lived in Colorado. His mother was a florist and his father was a retired teacher, and they’d been married for thirty years. Under Alameda’s probing, Steven admitted that he might not want to stay in event planning forever; he could see himself managing bigger, corporate-related projects or maybe going into public relations. For now, however, he had a lot more to learn at the studio.

“If only I wasn’t so incredibly underpaid,” he added in a deadpan tone, and both Sofia and Zayn started laughing.

“After your last bonus?” Zayn asked in mock indignation. “And your upgraded health plan?”

“I need more perks,” Steven said. “What about a company yoga class?” Comfortably, he slung an arm around the back of Sofia’s chair.

Sofia held a folded tortilla up to his mouth to quiet him. Obligingly, he took a bite.

Alameda smiled thinly as she watched them. She would never like Steven, Zayn thought. He felt certain he must have reminded her of his father. Even though Steven didn’t technically look like Yasar, he was tall and blond and possessed a similar WASPy handsomeness. Zayn could have told Alameda that Steven was cut from an entirely different cloth, but it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. Alameda was determined not to approve of any man Sofia chose for herself.

 

They had flan for dessert and small, strong cups of cinnamon coffee. Eventually, Alameda announced that it was time to leave. The good-byes were awkward, interpolated with the awareness of what wasn’t being said. Alameda wouldn’t apologize for having brought Luis to Houston, and Sofia was still inwardly seething about having been ambushed. Alameda was only marginally civil to Steven, who, for his part, was scrupulously polite.

“May I walk you out to the car, Mrs. Cantera?” he asked.

“No, I want Zayn to come with me.”

“Absolutely,” Zayn said, thinking, Anything. Anything to get her out of here.

They walked outside to the parking spaces in front of the studio. Zayn stood beside Alameda’s car while she climbed into the driver’s seat. She sighed heavily and sat with the door open.

“What kind of man is he?” she asked without looking at him.

Zayn answered seriously. “A good man. Steven doesn’t bail when things get tough. He’s always calm in an emergency. He can drive anything on wheels, and he can do CPR and basic plumbing. He’ll work an eighteen-hour day without a word of complaint, longer if necessary. I can promise you this, Alameda: He’s not like my father.”

A humorless smile flitted through the shadow patterns on her face. “They’re all like your father, Zayn.”

“Then why were you trying to push Sofia and Luis together?” he asked, bewildered.

“Because at least he would bring her back to live close to her family,” Alameda said. “Her real family.”

Infuriated, Zayn strove to keep his voice calm. “You know, Alameda, you have a nasty habit of taking shots at your own daughter, and I’m not sure what that’s supposed to accomplish. If you expect it to provide incentive for Sofia to be near you, it doesn’t seem to be working. You might want to try another tactic.”

Glaring at Zayn, Alameda slammed the car door shut and started the engine. After she drove away, Zayn went back into the studio, where Sofia was closing the dishwasher and Steven was drying the blender pitcher. Both were quiet. he wondered what, if anything, had been said between them while he’d been outside.

Zayn scooped up Coco and turned her to face him. “You behaved very well tonight,” Zayn told her. “You’re such a good girl.” She strained to lick him. “Not on the lips,” he said. “I know where that mouth has been.”

Steven picked up his keys from the counter. “Time to roll out,” he said. “And after that meal, I mean it literally.”

Zayn smiled at him. “You saved the day,” he said. “Thank you, Steven.”

“Yes, thank you,” Sofia said in a subdued voice. All the animation had drained from her expression.

Steven’s tone was carefully neutral. “Don’t mention it.”

Zayn pondered how to make a graceful exit. “Would you like me to —”

“No,” Steven said quickly. “I’m going now. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Sofia and Zayn both said in unison.

They both occupied ourselves with casual tasks while Steven let himself out. Zayn picked up a paper towel and wiped the already clean counter. Sofia sprayed the interior of the sink, which had just been rinsed. As soon as the door closed, they burst into conversation.

“What did he say?” Zayn demanded.

“Nothing special: He asked me if I wanted to save the rest of the salsa, and where did we keep the plastic bags.” Sofia covered her face with her hands. “I hate him.” he was startled to hear a sob escape.

“But,” he said, bewildered, “he was really nice to you tonight…”

“Exactly,” Sofia said venomously. Another sob. “Like a Disney prince. And I let myself pretend it was real, and it was w-wonderful. But now it’s over, and tomorrow he’ll turn into a pu-pumpkin.”

“The prince doesn’t turn into a pumpkin.”

“Then I turn into a pumpkin.”

Zayn reached for the paper towel stand and tugged one off the roll. “No, you don’t turn into a pumpkin, either. The coach turns into a pumpkin. You end up walking home with one shoe and a bunch of traumatized rodents.”

A laugh quivered out between Sofia’s fingers. She took the paper towel. Wadding it against her wet eyes, she said, “He meant those things he said. He cares about me. I knew it was the truth.”

“Everyone knew, Sofia. That’s why Luis got pissed off and left so fast.”

“But that doesn’t mean Steven wants a relationship.”

“Maybe you don’t either,” Zayn said dryly. “Sometimes starting a relationship is the worst thing you can do to someone you love.”

“Only one of Yasar Malik’s children would say that” came her voice from behind the paper towel.

“It’s probably true, though.”

Sofia glared at Zayn over the sodden white pulp of the towel. “Zayn,” she said vehemently, “nothing our father ever said to you was true. Not one promise. Not one word of advice. He’s the worst half of each of us. Why does his half always get to win?” Crying, she jumped up and went to her room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the lack of ziam in this, but i hope this was ok. And there will be more ziam in upcoming chapters. so stay with me. I love you all. And kudos and comments are really really appreciated. I hope y'all all alright.
> 
> Come talk to me tumblr @pubumalik


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hope I’m not making you late for your event,” Zayn said.
> 
> “It was canceled.”
> 
> “When?”
> 
> A smile touched his lips. “About a minute and a half ago.” Liam set aside his wine, then took off his jacket and draped it over the backrest of a bar stool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop the update *Hide behind a wall*  
> \--------
> 
> *Peeping behing the wall*
> 
> Well that was me trying to be funny. XD
> 
> Anyways here i am after a lond time. I've been through a lot, first an important interview then a virus which was very serious and then my computer was broken. :( luckily nothing happened to my files and lastly my birthday like six days ago. and i guess it was a good thing but it's not because i'm 23 now! And growing up sucks!!! *Sighs*
> 
> I think you might not wanna hear my sad stories. I hope this update will do good to you because it's really good. Ziam reunion in this chapter and they have really intimate moments!

To Zayn’s satisfaction, not to mention Sofia’s, Bethany Warner loved the concept of the Jazz Age wedding at the Filter Building. Hollis was slower to be convinced, worrying that the Art Deco elements might seem too cold. However, once Sofia showed her sketches and samples of lavish details, including fresh flower arrangements ornamented with strings of pearls and glittering crystal brooches, Hollis became more enthused.

“Still, Zayn always imagined Bethany in a traditional wedding gown,” Hollis fretted. “Not something trendy.”

Bethany frowned. “It’s not trendy if it’s been around since 1920, Mother.”

“I don’t want you prancing around in something that looks like a costume,” Hollis persisted.

Zayn intervened quickly, grabbing a sketch pad from Sofia and sitting between the Warners. “I understand. We need something classic but not too theme-y. I wasn’t thinking about drop-waist for you, Bethany. More something like this…” Zayn picked up a pencil and sketched a slim, high-waisted gown. On impulse, he added a split-front skirt draped in panels of sheer silk and tulle. “Most of the bodice would be done in linear beading and sequins.” he filled it in with a light geometric pattern. “And instead of a veil, a double-strand headband of diamonds and pearls going across the forehead. Or if that’s a little too dramatic —”

“That’s it,” Bethany said in excitement, jamming her finger directly on the design. “That’s what I want. I love that.”

“It’s beautiful,” Hollis admitted. She gave Zayn a pleased look. “Did you just come up with this, Zayn? You’re very talented.”

Zayn smiled at her. “I’m sure we can have something similar to this made —”

“No, not similar,” Bethany interrupted. “I want this one.”

Zayn shook his head, disconcerted. “I haven’t designed for a few years. And my old contacts are in New York.”

“Find someone to collaborate with,” Hollis told him. “We’ll take the plane up to New York as often as we need for the fittings.”

After the meeting was over and the Warners had left, Sofia exclaimed, “I can’t believe they liked the Jazz Age wedding. I thought there was a fifty-fifty chance they’d choose the country club.”

“I was pretty certain that Hollis would go for the more stylish option. She wants to be seen as forward-thinking and fashionable.”

“But not if it offends the old guard,” Sofia said.

Zayn grinned as he went to get Coco from her crate. “I’ll bet some of the old guard were there during the original Jazz Age.”

“Why did you keep Coco in there while the Warners were here?”

“Some people don’t like having a dog wandering around.”

“I think you’re embarrassed by her.”

“Don’t say things like that in front of the baby,” Zayn protested.

“That dog is not my baby,” Sofia said with a reluctant smile.

“Come on, help me do her nails.”

They sat side by side at the counter while Zayn held Coco in his lap. “One of us should call Steven and tell him that the Warners liked the Gatsby wedding,” he said. He uncapped a puppy-nail-polish pen, the same shade of black as her rhinestone collar.

“You do it,” Sofia said.

So far, Sofia and Steven had been at a stalemate. He had been unusually nice to her the past couple of days, but there had been no sign of the tenderness he had shown the night of Alameda’s visit. When Zayn had urged Sofia to say something to him, she had confessed that she was still trying to work up the nerve.

“Sofia, for heaven’s sake, go talk to him. Be proactive.”

She took one of Coco’s delicate paws and held it steady. “Why don’t you take your own advice?” she retorted. “You haven’t talked to Liam since he took you out to lunch.”

“My situation is different.”

“How?”

Carefully Zayn applied a coat of polish to Coco’s nails. “For one thing, Liam has too much money. There’s no way I can go after him without looking like a gold digger.”

“Does Liam look at it that way?” Sofia asked dubiously.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s how everyone else does.” The Chihuahua looked solemnly from one of them to the other as they talked. Zayn capped the polish pen and blew gently on Coco’s shiny black nails.

“What if he’s decided to outwait you? What if you’re both too stubborn to make the next move?”

“Then at least I’ll have my pride.”

“Pride buys no meat in the market.”

“You’re hoping I’ll ask you what that means, but I’m not going to.”

“You might as well start sleeping with him,” Sofia said, “since everyone already thinks you are.”

Zayn’s eyes widened. “Why would anyone assume that?”

“Because you bought a dog together.”

“No, we didn’t! I bought the dog. Liam just happened to be there.”

“It’s a sign of commitment. It shows that you’re both thinking about a future together.”

“Coco isn’t a couples dog,” Zayn said heatedly, but as he glanced at her, he realized she was teasing. Rolling his eyes, he relaxed and set Coco carefully on the floor.

As he returned to his chair, Sofia gave him a pensive look. “Zayn… I’ve been thinking about a lot of things since I saw Luis the other day. I’ve decided that bringing him here was one of the nicest things that Mamá has ever done for me.”

“If so,” Zayn said, “trust me, it was purely accidental on her part.”

Sofia smiled faintly. “I know. But it helped. Because facing Luis after all this time made me realize something: By not moving on, I’ve been giving Luis power over me. It’s like he’s been holding me hostage. He belongs in my past – I can’t let him influence my future.” Her hazel eyes took in Zayn’s stricken expression as she continued. “You and I are too much alike, Zayn. Thin-skinned people shouldn’t feel things as deeply as we do – we bruise too easy.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Whenever I think about moving on,” he eventually said, “it’s as terrifying as the idea of parachuting out of a plane. At night. Over a cactus field. I can’t seem to make myself do it.”

“What if the plane were on fire?” Sofia suggested. “Could you jump out of it then?”

An uneven grin spread across his face. “Well, that would definitely provide some motivation.”

“Then the next time you’re with Liam,” Sofia said, “try telling yourself the plane’s on fire. Then the only choice is to jump.”

“Over the cactus field?”

“Anything’s better than a burning plane,” she said reasonably.

“Good point.”

“Then you’re going to call Liam?”

Zayn hesitated, surprised by the flare of yearning he felt at the question. Two days, and he missed him badly. He didn’t just want him, he needed him. He’s doomed, he thought, and sighed in resignation.

“No,” he said, “I’m not going to call him. I’d rather figure out a way to make him come here without having to ask him.”

She gave him a bemused glance. “Like fake your own kidnapping or something?”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far.” After a few seconds of pondering, Zayn said, “But that gives me an idea…”

On Saturday afternoon he closed the studio and took a long, luxurious bath. Afterward he left his hair down in loose and misted his wrists and throat with a light cologne. He dressed in lavender silk lounge pants and a matching white long sleeve shirt that showed more cleavage than he ever would have displayed in public.

“I’m leaving for a girls’ night out” came Sofia’s voice as he went downstairs.

“With who?”

“El and some other friends.” Sofia was busy rummaging through her handbag. “Dinner, a movie, and probably drinks afterward.” She glanced at him and grinned. “I may crash at El’s place. You’ll want the whole house to yourself once Liam sees you in that outfit.”

“He may tell me off for the prank I pulled, and leave right afterward.”

“I don’t think so.” Sofia blew him a kiss. “Remember the plane,” she said, and left.

Wandering around the empty house, Zayn turned down most of the lights, lit some candles in blown-glass votives, and poured a glass of wine. As he sat on the sofa in front of the TV, Coco climbed up a little set of steps to sit next to me.

They were about a third of the way into a movie when the doorbell rang.

Coco trotted down the sofa steps and hurried to the front door with an abbreviated yap. Zayn nerves jangled wildly as he stood and followed, carrying his wineglass. After taking a deep breath, he cracked open the door to find Liam leaning against the door frame. He was heart-stoppingly handsome in a dark suit, dress shirt, and tie.

“Oh, hello,” Zayn said in a tone of mild surprise, opening the door a couple of inches wider. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m supposed to take pictures at a fund-raising event tonight. But just as I was leaving, I found out my camera bag was empty. Except for this.” Liam held up a piece of paper covered with letters that had been cut from a magazine and arranged ransom-note style. It read:

Call me or the camera gets it.

“Happen to know anything about this?” he asked.

“I might.” As he stared into Liam’s brown eyes, which is turning in to dark sexy color, Zayn saw to his relief that Liam wasn’t angry. In fact, Zayn got the impression that he was considerably entertained.

“This was an inside job,” Liam said. “Jack has a key to my place, but he knows better. So it had to be Ella who helped you.”

“I admit nothing.” Zayn opened the door fully. “Would you like to come in for a glass of wine?”

Liam was about to reply, but his gaze had flickered to the v neck of Zayn’s slik shirt and his full-on display nipples, and then he couldn’t seem to look away.

“Wine?” Zayn prompted.

Liam blinked and forced his gaze back up to Zayn’s face. He had to clear his throat before replying. “Please.”

Coco trotted back to the sofa as Liam and Zayn went to the kitchen.

“You were expecting company?” Liam asked, seeing the extra wineglass waiting beside the open bottle.

“One never knows.”

“One knows the chances are pretty high when a five-thousand-dollar Nikon is missing.”

“It’s safe.” Zayn poured some chilled pinot grigio and gave it to him.

Liam took a swallow, the crystal stem of the wineglass glimmering in his strong fingers.

Being with him again, having him within arm’s reach, filled Zayn with an emotion bordering on exhilaration. For Zayn, happiness was as elusive and fragile as one of those balloons Yasar had once brought Sofia. At the moment, however, it seemed to have been woven all through him, stitched deep in his bones and muscles, enriching his blood.

“I hope I’m not making you late for your event,” Zayn said.

“It was canceled.”

“When?”

A smile touched his lips. “About a minute and a half ago.” Liam set aside his wine, then took off his jacket and draped it over the backrest of a bar stool. Next the shirt cuffs were unbuttoned and rolled up twice, revealing forearms dusted with dark hair. Excited flutters awakened in Zayn’s stomach as he proceeded to remove his tie.

After unfastening his top shirt button, Liam picked up his wineglass and gave Zayn a level glance. “I haven’t called because I’ve been trying to give you space.”

Zayn tried to sound injured. “There’s a difference between giving someone space and ignoring them.”

“Honey, I’m not ignoring you, I’m trying not to act like a stalker.”

“Why didn’t you kiss me after we went out the other day?”

The creases at the outer corners of his eyes deepened. “Because I knew that if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. You may have noticed that I have trouble putting on the brakes with you.” He stood and took hold of the sides of Zayn’s chair, effectively caging him. “Now that you’ve taken my camera hostage… what kind of ransom are we talking about?”

Zayn had to work up his nerve before replying. “I think we should negotiate upstairs. In my bedroom.”

Liam contemplated Zayn for a long moment before shaking his head. “Zayn… when it happens, I’m going to want things that are hard for you to give. It’ll be different from the first time. And I can’t take the chance that you’re not ready.”

Zayn rested his hands on Liam’s forearms, taut with corded strength. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “I missed talking to you at night and hearing about your day, and telling you about mine. I’ve even been dreaming about you. Since you’re already occupying some of my head space, we might as well sleep together.”

Liam was very still, his gaze locked on Zayn’s reddening face. By now Liam knew how difficult it was for Zayn to admit how he felt.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he continued, “but I know that I trust you. And I know that I want to wake up with a man in my bed tomorrow morning. Specifically you. So if you —”

Before Zayn could finish, Liam leaned forward and kissed him. It was not violent but not gentle too. Fastness of the sheer force of the kiss made him gasp for the air as Zayn’s fingers tightened on his arms in a bid for balance. he took an extra breath, another, his lungs striving amid a storm of heartbeats. The kiss turned stronger, more voracious, his mouth opening Zayn’s, leaving groans as he licked Zayn’s tongue along with his lips. Without breaking the kiss, he pulled Zayn from the chair and pinned him against the counter, as if he needed to be held in place, restrained, and the hint of aggression of Liam’s hardening cock was wildly exciting. Liam kept one hand clutching Zayn’s hip that could leave finger prints he secured his other hand around Zayn’s biceps swallowing him whole with his bigger body.

“Liam,” Zayn panted when his mouth slid to his throat, “I… I have a big bed upstairs, covered with… Italian linens and a hand-quilted silk cover… and feather and down pillows…”

Liam drew his head back to look at Zayn, licking remaining saliva on his lips, a dance of laughter in his eyes. “You don’t have to sell me on the bed, baby.”

He paused at the sound of a phone emanating from his discarded jacket. “Sorry,” he said, reaching for the garment. “I only get this ringtone when it’s family.” He began to hunt through the pockets.

“Of course.”

He pulled out the phone and looked at his text messages. “Christ,” he said, his expression changing.

Something bad had happened.

“Haven’s in the hospital,” he said. “I have to go.”

“I’m coming too,” Zayn said instantly.

Liam shook his head. “You don’t have to —”

“Wait two minutes,” Zayn said, already running to the stairs. “I’ll put on a shirt and some jeans. Don’t leave without me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you'll be stay with me for the roller coaster. I promise I'll update soon! Let me know if you liked it. if you didn't let me know anyway. because comments and kudos are really appreciated! Love


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wordlessly Liam handed the phone to Zayn.
> 
> “Preeclampsia,” Zayn said, reading the message from Ella.
> 
> “I’ve never heard of it before.”

It occurred to Zayn on the way to the hospital that he might have been too pushy, insisting on accompanying Liam. Whatever was wrong with Haven, it was a family matter, and they might not appreciate having an outsider there. On the other hand, Zayn wanted to help in any way possible. And more important, he wanted to be there for Liam. Having gained some understanding of how much the Paynes meant to one another, he knew it would devastate Liam if anything happened to his sister.“What does the text say about Haven’s condition?” Zayn asked.

Wordlessly Liam handed the phone to Zayn.

“Preeclampsia,” Zayn said, reading the message from Ella.

“I’ve never heard of it before.”

“I have, but I’m not sure exactly what it is.” In a couple of minutes, he'd found a page on preeclampsia. “It’s a hypertensive disease. High blood pressure, severe water retention, and toxic buildup in the kidneys and liver.”

“How serious is it?”

Zayn hesitated. “It can get really serious.”

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Life-threatening?”

“Garner is a world-class hospital. I’m sure Haven will be fine.” The phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID. “It’s Ella. Do you want to —”

“Talk to her while I drive.”

Zayn answered the call. “Ella? Hi, it’s Zayn.”

Ella’s voice was quiet, but he could hear the stress threaded through her subdued tone. “We’re in the waiting room at the neonatal ICU. Are you and Liam headed over?”

“Yes, we’re almost there. What’s happening?”

“This morning Haven woke up with a headache and nausea, but Jesus, that’s routine for her. She couldn’t keep anything down, and she went back to bed. When she woke up this afternoon, she was starting to have problems breathing. Hardy brought her to the hospital and they checked her vitals and did some tests. Her blood pressure is through the roof, and her protein levels are triple what they should be, and she’s acting confused, which scared the shit out of Hardy. The good news is, the baby’s heartbeat is normal.”

“How many weeks before the baby is full term?”

“Four, I think. But she’ll probably be fine, even being born this early.”

“They’re going to do a C-section. Okay, gotta go – Liberty and Gage are just walking in, and they’ll want an update.” The call ended.

“They’re doing a C-section,” Zayn told Liam.

He swore softly.

Zayn looked back at the Web page on the phone. “Preeclampsia is usually resolved within forty-eight hours after the baby’s delivered,” he said. “They’ll give Haven medicine for the hypertension. The baby will be premature, but she’s developed enough at this point that there probably won’t be any long-term problems. So everything will be okay.”

Liam nodded, looking far from reassured.

The waiting room of the NICU was furnished with clusters of blue upholstered chairs and small tables and a sofa. Harsh overhead lighting imparted a lunar whiteness to the atmosphere. The assembled members of the immediate Payne family were understandably tense and subdued as they welcomed Liam and Zayn. Jack, however, summoned a hint of his usual humor. “Hi, Zayn,” he said, giving me a brief hug, adding in feigned surprise, “You’re still hanging out with Liam?”

“I insisted on coming with him,” Zayn said. “I hope I’m not barging in, but I thought —“Not at all,” Liberty interrupted, her green eyes warm.

“We’re glad you’re here,” Gage added. His gaze traveled from Zayn's face to Liam’s. “No news about Haven yet.”

“How’s Hardy doing?” Liam asked.

“He’s been solid so far,” Jack replied. “But if she goes downhill any further… he won’t take it well.”

“None of us will,” Liam said, and the group fell silent.

They rearranged a few chairs and settled in the waiting room. Liam and Zayn sat on the sofa. “You sure you want to stay?” Liam asked Zayn soft voice. “I can have you sent home in the hospital’s private car. This won’t be over any time soon.”

“Do you want me to leave? Is it better for the family if there are no outsiders here? Just be blunt, because I —”

“You’re not an outsider. But you don’t have to suffer in a hospital waiting room just because I’m here.”

“I’m not suffering. And I want to stay, as long as it’s okay with you.” Zayn curled his legs beneath him and leaned into Liam's side.

“I want you here.” He cuddled him closer.

“What did you mean, the hospital’s private car?” Zayn asked. “Is that a new service?”

“Not exactly. The hospital has what they call a VIP program for benefactors. The family made some donations in the past, and Dad left them a bequest in his will. So now if any of us comes to the hospital, we’re supposed to wait in a VIP room, which is stuck in some distant wing of the hospital, with people hovering over you every minute. We’ve all agreed to avoid the VIP treatment whenever possible.” He paused. “But I’d break the rules if you wanted a ride home in a town car.”

“If you’re not going to be a VIP,” Zayn told him, “don’t try to turn me into one.”

Liam smiled and pressed his lips to his temple. “Someday,” he murmured, “I’m going to take you out for a nice, normal date. No drama. We’ll go have dinner at a restaurant like civilized people.”

After several long, quiet minutes, Jack said he was going to get some coffee and asked if anyone wanted some. The group shook their heads. He left and returned soon with a Styrofoam cup filled with steaming liquid.

Ella frowned in worry. “Jack, it’s not good to drink hot liquid out of those kinds of cups – the chemicals leach into the coffee.”Jack looked sardonic. “I’ve drunk hot coffee out of Styrofoam for most of my life.”

“That explains it,” Liam said.

Although Jack sent him a warning glance, there was a betraying twitch at the corner of his mouth as he took his seat beside Ella. He offered her a pack of plastic-wrapped cookies.

“You got that from a vending machine, didn’t you?” Ella asked suspiciously.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Jack said.

“What’s wrong with vending machines?” Zayn asked.

“The food is junk,” Ella replied, “and the machines themselves are deadly. They kill more people per year than sharks.”

“How could a vending machine kill someone?” Liberty asked.

“Fall over and crush them,” Ella said earnestly. “It happens.”

“There’s no vending machine in existence that could take out a Payne,” Jack informed her. “We’re too hardheaded.”

“I’ll vouch for that,” Ella said. Surreptitiously she took a cookie from the open packet and began to nibble on it.

Zayn smiled and rested his head on liam’s shoulder. His hand began to sift through the loose locks of Zayn's hair. He felt assured for not decided tie up to a bun. Damn! It felt so good. So relaxed. 

Abruptly, the soothing motion of his hand stopped, a new tension entering his body. Lifting Zayn's head, he followed the direction of Liam’s gaze.

Hardy had entered the waiting room, not seeming to recognize or notice anyone. His face was haggard and skull white, his eyes electric blue. He went blindly to the farthest corner and sat, his broad shoulders hunched as if he were trying to recover from a mule kick to the chest.

“Hardy —” someone said quietly.

He flinched and gave a little shake of his head.

A doctor had come to the doorway. Gage went to him, and they conferred for a couple of minutes.

Gage’s expression was unreadable as he returned. The group leaned in to catch every word as he spoke quietly. “There’s a complication with preeclampsia called HELLP syndrome. Basically the red blood cells are rupturing. Haven is heading toward liver failure and a possible stroke.” He paused and swallowed hard, his gaze meeting Liberty’s. “Delivering the baby is the first step,” he continued in an even tone. “After that they’ll give her steroids and plasma, and likely a blood transfusion. We’ll probably get some news in about an hour. For now, we hunker down and wait.”

“Shit,” Liam said softly. He glanced at the far corner of the room, where Hardy leaned forward with his forearms braced on his thighs, his head down. “Someone should sit with him. Should I —”

“I will, if you don’t mind,” Gage murmured.

“Go right ahead.”

Gage stood and went to the solitary figure in the corner.

Zayn was surprised by Gage’s desire to sit with Hardy, recalling some of what Liam had once told him, that there was no love lost between the two men. Liam had been somewhat vague about the details, but he’d indicated that Hardy had caused some kind of trouble for Gage and Liberty. It seemed there was history between Hardy and Liberty – they had known each other growing up and had even been childhood sweethearts for a time.

“How did Hardy end up marrying Haven?” Zayn had asked.

“Not exactly sure how or when it started,” Liam had said. “But once Hardy and Haven took up with each other, it was like trying to stop a runaway train. And eventually we all realized that Hardy loved her, which is all that matters. Still… Gage and Hardy generally keep their distance from each other, unless there’s an occasion when the entire family gets together.”

Zayn stole a discreet glance at the corner of the room, where Gage sat beside Hardy and gave him a rough brotherly pat on the back. Hardy didn’t even appear to notice. He was trapped in some private hell, where no one could reach him. In a couple of minutes, however, Hardy’s shoulders lifted and fell in a sigh. Gage asked him something, and he shook his head in response.

For the next hour, Gage stayed beside Hardy, murmuring from time to time but mostly offering silent companionship. No one else approached, understanding that Hardy’s emotions were too raw, that one person’s proximity was all he could handle.

Why that person should be Gage, however, was difficult to understand.

Zayn gave Liam a questioning glance. Leaning close, he murmured, “Haven’s always been a favorite of Gage’s. Hardy knows if anything happens, Gage would be nearly as torn up about it as he would. And besides… they’re family.”

A young nurse entered the waiting room. “Mr. Cates?” He rose to his feet, his face contorted with a raw anguish that Zayn doubted she or anyone else would ever forget. She hurried over to him with her phone. “I have a picture of your daughter,” she said. “I took it before they put her in the incubator. She’s a perfect four pounds. Seventeen inches long.”

The Paynes all gathered around the phone with exclamations of excitement and relief.

Hardy took a glance at the image and said hoarsely, “My wife…”

“Mrs. Cates came through the surgery without any major issues. She’s waking up in recovery – it’ll take a little while. The doctor will be here in just a minute, and he’ll let you know —”

“I want to see her,” Hardy said brusquely.

Before the disconcerted nurse could reply, Gage intervened. “Hardy, I’ll talk to the doctor while you’re with Haven.”

Hardy nodded and strode from the waiting area.“He really shouldn’t be doing that,” the nurse fretted. “I’d better go follow him. If y’all want to take a peek at the baby, she’s in the special care nursery.”

Zayn headed to the nursery with Liam, Ella, and Jack, while Gage and Liberty stayed in the waiting room to talk to the doctor.

“Poor Hardy,” Ella murmured as we walked along the hallway. “He’s been worried sick.”

“My sympathy’s with Haven,” Liam said. “I don’t know the details of what she’s been through, and I don’t want to. But I do know she’s gone through one hell of a battle.”

They entered the special care nursery, where the newborn had been placed in an incubator. She had been hooked up to an oxygen tube and monitoring leads, and her midsection was wrapped in a glowing blue pad.

“What is that?” Zayn asked in a hushed voice.

“A biliblanket,” Ella replied. “Mia had one after she was born. It’s phototherapy for jaundice.”

The baby blinked and appeared to drift to sleep, her rosebud mouth opening and closing. Her head was covered with fine dark hair. “Hard to tell what she looks like,” Jack commented.

“She’ll be beautiful,” Ella said. “How could she not be, with Haven and Hardy as parents?”

“Hardy’s not what I’d call pretty,” Jack said.

“If you did,” Liam remarked, “he’d kick your ass.”

Jack grinned and asked Ella, “Did Haven tell you what the baby’s name was?”

“Not yet.”

We returned to the waiting room, where Gage and Liberty had just finished talking with the doctor. “They’re cautiously optimistic,” Gage reported. “It’s going to take three or four days before the HELLP issues are resolved. They’ve already given her a blood transfusion, and they’ll probably do another to help with the platelet count. They’re also going to put her on corticosteroid therapy and monitor her closely.” He shook his head, looking troubled. “They’re keeping her on the magnesium drip to ward off seizures. Apparently it’s a son of a bitch.”

Liberty rubbed her face and sighed. “Why don’t they have a bar in a hospital? It’s usually the place you most need a drink.”

Gage wrapped his arms around his wife and snuggled her against his chest. “You need to go home and check on the kids. What if Jack and Ella drop you off while I stay here a little while longer? I’m going to stick around and talk to Hardy.”

“That sounds good,” Liberty said against his shoulder.

“You need me for anything?” Liam asked.

Gage shook his head and smiled. “I think we’re fine here. You and Zayn go on and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So erm, I'm sorry for the late update. That's not what I promised I know! Assignments and reports started to breath down on my neck so i was really busy. And i got all my files deleted so i had to format my computer. It to a while to gather stuff again there for i'd like to apologize for that in advance. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Love you all!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want you like this.”
> 
> Zayn began to wriggle. “Later. Please.”
> 
> Lowering his head, Liam murmured, “You’re not in charge. I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No explaining i just want you guys to start reading as fast as you can!

Zayn woke up in the morning with the groggy awareness that he was not alone. He is all drowned by someone who firmly pressed against his back. One of their hands are going under his head and the other one is tightly around his stomach which helped the other man to press him against his rigid chest. It was almost safe and warm if not a little suffocating him a bit. Climbing through the blurred layers of consciousness, Zayn recalled the events of the previous night… coming home from the hospital with Liam… inviting him upstairs to sleep with him. They had both been exhausted, sore from hours spent on uncomfortable waiting room furniture, emotionally drained. Zayn had changed into a huge comfy over-sized hoodie and since it was reaching past his thighs he only wore a boxer underneath and climbed into bed with Liam. The feeling of being held against his big, warm body had been delicious, and in matter of seconds he had passed out.

Liam was behind him, one arm tucked beneath his head, his legs drawn up under his. Zayn lay quietly and listened to the even cadence of Liam's breathing. Wondering if he was awake, he let his toes delicately investigate the contours of his foot. Slowly Liam's mouth came to his neck, finding a place so sensitive that Zayn felt a shot of delight down to his stomach. Coolness of the spit made Zayn shiver under the bigger man.

 

“There’s a man in my bed,” Zayn remarked, groping back with his hand, feeling a hairy muscular thigh¸ the lean smoothness of a masculine hip. Zayn's wrist was gently captured, his hand guided downward until his fingers encountered hard, distended silky cock. Zayn took a quick breath, his eyes widening. “Liam… it’s too early.”

His hand traveled to Zayn's nipple, under the hoodie caressing the shape through the thin knit fabric of the material, softly pinching the nipple, enticing sensation from the stiffening points.

Zayn tried again, sounding ambivalent even to his own ears. “I’m not a fan of morning sex.”

But Liam continued to kiss his neck and pulled the hem of Zayn's sweater up past his stomach. Which revealed his clad only boxers, toned thighs. Zayn shivered.

But Zayn let out a giggle instead of nerves and dismay, crawling toward the other side of the bed.

Liam pounced, pushing him back down. He covered Zayn, thighs clamping on his hips, deliberately letting him feel some of his weight,but never crushing, his body charged with lust. The moment was playful, but there was intent in the way he handled Zayn, an assertiveness that stole his breath away.

“At least let me take a shower first,” Zayn said plaintively.

“I want you like this.”

Zayn began to wriggle. “Later. Please.”

Lowering his head, Liam murmured, “You’re not in charge. I am.”

Zayn went still. For some reason, hearing those soft words while he was pinning him down like that sent a deep, deranged thrill through him. His voice curled hotly in Zayn's ear. “You belong to me, and I’m going to have you. Here and now.”

Zayn couldn’t seem to get enough air. He had never been so intensely aroused.

His position altered, his hand sliding beneath the boxers and between his thighs, searching intimately. He touched his dick slowly guiding his finger down past his balls to search for his wet hole. Zayn quivered as he massaged into the wetness, two fingers entering in a gentle glide. Zayn's hips began to rock back in a tight, unthinking rhythm, and he matched it exactly, pressing deep into the pulse, building sensation until he began to clench at each impetus.

Turning him to his back, Liam knelt between his thighs and propped them up so his knees were bent. He kissed his ankle, his calf, working his way upward. while try to remove Zayn's boxers. Zayn bit his lips and writhed as the kisses crept closer to the juncture of his thigh and groin. Boxer came off and Liam throw away the offended cloth. “Don’t —” Zayn began to protest, right before he felt a hot glassy stroke across his twitching hole. He couldn’t escape the firm wet tug of his mouth. Zayn began to sob, his defenses breaking down beneath the weight of pleasure.

He was unrelenting, concentrating on the shivery-hot place with his tongue, the caresses acquiring a rhythm that guided every impulse and sensation and heartbeat into a single focused current. Zayn's legs spread out wide, feet plated to the bed and he was making sounds like he’d been hurt as the blinding release began. Too much to bear, too intense, his body seized with violent quivers.

 

Liam spent long minutes drawing out the afterglow even after Zayn quieted, head lifting between his thighs with dark eyes and a long drool connected his hole and Liam's mouth. Then he got back at his work again leaving Zayn breathless for the hundredth time. His mouth caressing him with diabolical gentleness. Eventually Liam's head lifted and he kissed his stomach. Zayn was so decimated that he barely registered when he rolled away for a moment and reached for something on the nightstand. Liam levered himself fully over his body, nudging his legs apart, and Zayn reached up for him with weak arms. Entering him in a demanding drive, Liam pulled back just enough to thrust again, the deliberate measure of each lunge forcing him deliciously open, his hips lifted with each stroke.

Sometimes the rhythm was teasing and slow, sometimes fast and deep. He paid attention to every response, no matter how subtle, learning what excited Zayn, what gave him pleasure. Liam was making love to Zayn as no one ever had, and although the experience was unfamiliar, Zayn could recognize it for what it was. Devastated, he closed his eyes as Liam ground into him with a steady circling. Whimpers broke from Zayn's throat along with Liam's rough groans. It felt delicious and possessive in Zayn's ear. There was no holding anything back, no modesty, no control. More racking spasms, Zayn's pleasure feeding his. There's no much words other than gasping for the air and Liam's harsh breaths. Liam growled in his chest and throat and began to shudder in Zayn's arms, Tucking his head between the shoulder junction. Liam's soft breath hit Zayn's neck fast. Reaching to grab Zayn with his hand, Liam started to stroke sometimes in slow teasing motion and sometime biting his lip and giving the fasted strokes Zayn ever experienced in his entire fucking life. Zayn moved his hand on Liam's head and twisting his hair in smooth patterns,forcing his mouth on his. But it was more like panting in to each other's mouths than kissing.. A whiler later Zayn had the best orgasm in his entire life. Liam followed him minutes later ,so Zayn held him, kissing the side of his neck, loving the weight of him on him, helping him through his orgasm just like Liam did.

 

Eventually he turned and pulled Zayn halfway over him, and they lay entangled for a long time afterward. Zayn was in a stupor, random thoughts hovering just out of reach. The smells of sweat and sex mingled in an erotic fragrance, infusing every breath. Beneath his head, Liam's chest lifted and fell in a relaxed pattern. One of his hands wandered over him, stroking gently. While other hand caressing his soft locks. It felt good. That moment was everything. Zayn felt like he is flying.

Then he kissed Liam's shoulder. “I going to take a shower now,” he said, his voice husky. “Don’t try and stop me.”

Liam smiled and turned to his side, watching him leave the bed.

Zayn went into the bathroom on unsteady legs and started the shower. his throat was tight with the effort to hold back tears. It was difficult to feel so defenseless… unguarded… and yet at the same time, there was an unspeakable relief in it.

 

Before the water had heated sufficiently for him to step in, Liam entered the room. His acute gaze caught every nuance of Zayn's expression before he could manage to hide it. Reaching a hand into the shower spray, he tested the temperature. He went with him into the glass-fronted stall. Blindly Zayn turned his face into the water.

Liam slicked his hands with soap and began to wash Zayn, his touch tender rather than sexual. Zayn leaned against him passively, making no protest even when Liam's soapy fingers slid between his legs and roalled his balls as he's grabbing now soft cock in to his hand caressing it slower pattern while other hand parted his cheeks and slid his fingers to caress Zayn's hole, for the rinse of hot water, keeping his head tucked under Zayn's neck. It was quiet other than the squishy sounds from soaps and water falling. Liam turned Zayn so the spray was at his back, and he was pressed all along the wet, muscled surface of Liam's front.

“Too soon?” Zayn heard him ask.

He shook his head, arms locked around his waist. “No… But it was different from the first time.”

“I told you it would be.”

“Yes, but I… I’m not sure why.”

Liam murmured close to his ear, “Because it means something now.”

Zayn could respond only with a shaken nod.

After a quick breakfast of coffee and toast, Liam had to leave. He would rush home to change his clothes before meeting with one of the directors of the Payne charitable giving foundation, to discuss the latest initiatives the family had agreed to focus on. “After everything that happened last night,” Liam said, “I may be the only Payne who shows up.” He stole a quick kiss. “Dinner tonight?” Another kiss before Zayn could answer. “At seven?” One more kiss. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Zayn stood there with an idiotic grin on his face as he left.

 

A little while later, while he was drinking a second cup of coffee, Sofia came downstairs in a pink robe and matching bunny slippers. “Is Liam still here?” she asked in a whisper.

“No, he’s gone.”

“How was last night?”

He smiled wryly. “Eventful. We spent most of it in a waiting room at Garner Hospital.” As they sat next to each other at the counter, Zayn told Sofia all about Haven’s pregnancy complications, and the baby’s birth, and how the Paynes had interacted.

“It was sort of eye-opening,” Zayn said. “I’ve seen families celebrating together, and families on the verge of brawling over incredibly stupid stuff. But I’ve never actually seen a family, up close, in a situation like that. The way they supported each other…” he paused, finding it difficult to put into words. “Well, it surprised me that Gage, who’s had problems with Hardy in the past, would be the one to sit with him and comfort him, and Hardy let him, and it was because of the family bond, this… this weird connection that’s so important to all of them.”

“It’s not weird,” Sofia said. “That’s what a family is.”

“Yes, I know what a family is, but I’ve never seen what a family does. Not like that.” he paused, frowning. “I’ve never been part of an extended family. I’m not sure I’d like it. They all seem to know each other so well. Too well. There wouldn’t be enough privacy for me.”

“There are obligations when you’re part of a family,” Sofia conceded. “And problems. But taking care of each other… the feeling of belonging somewhere… that part is wonderful.”

“Do you miss not being close to your relatives?” Zayn asked.

“Sometimes,” Sofia admitted. “But when you’re not accepted for who you are, it’s not really a family.” She shrugged and took a swallow of coffee. “Tell me the rest,” she prompted. “When Liam brought you back.”

A light blush covered his face. “He spent the night, obviously.”

“And?”

“I’m not giving you details,” Zayn protested, and Sofia laughed gleefully as his color deepened.

“I can tell it was good just by looking at your face,” she said.

 

Zayn tried to divert her. “Let’s figure out our plans for the day. Later this afternoon we need to review what’s been done on the Warner wedding so far, and send a report to Ryan. I think he’ll be fine with most of it, but I want to make sure —” he broke off as the doorbell rang. “That must be a delivery. Unless you’re expecting someone?”

“No.” Sofia went to the front entrance and peeked through one of the narrow side windows. She whirled around and plastered her back to the door like a knife thrower’s assistant during warm-up practice. “It’s Steven,” she said, her eyes wide. “Why is he here?”

“I have no idea. Let’s ask him.”

She didn’t move. “What do you think he wants?”

“He works here,” Zayn reminded her patiently. “Let him in.”

His sister nodded tensely. She turned to unlock the door, then opened it with unnecessary force. “What do you want?” she asked without preamble.

 

Steven was dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt. His expression was difficult to interpret as he looked down at her. “I left my phone case here yesterday,” he said warily. “I came by to pick it up.”

“Hi, Steven,” Zayn said. “Your phone case is on the coffee table.”

“Thanks.” He walked inside with an air of extreme caution, as if he suspected the studio had been booby-trapped.

Coco ascended the steps to the sofa and watched Steven retrieve his phone case. He paused to pet her tiny head and scratch the back of her neck. As soon as he stopped, Coco pawed at his hand and shoved her head beneath his palm, demanding that he continue.

“How’s it going?” Zayn asked.

“Fine,” Steven replied.

“Would you like some coffee?”

It appeared to be a question with no easy answer. “I’m… not sure.”

“Okay.”

As Steven continued to pet Coco, he stole a glance at Sofia. “You’re wearing bunny slippers,” he said, as if it confirmed a suspicion he’d had for some time.

“And?” Sofia asked darkly, expecting a sarcastic comment.

“I like them.”

Sofia gave him a confused glance.

They were both so focused on each other that neither of them noticed my discreet exit from the kitchen.

“I’m going to the farmer’s market,” Steven said. “There should be some good peaches. Would you like to come along?”

 

Sofia replied in a slightly higher-pitched voice than usual. “Okay, why not?”

“Good.”

“I just have to change out of my pajamas into some regular clothes and…” Sofia paused. “Pajamas,” she repeated. “That’s how to say it. Right?”

Unable to resist, Zayn stopped to glance at them from his vantage on the stairs. Zayn had an unobstructed view of Steven’s face. He was smiling down at Sofia, his eyes glowing. “The way you pronounce it,” he said, “it always sounds like pa-yamas.” He hesitated and lifted his hand to caress her cheek gently.

“Pajamas,” Sofia repeated, sounding exactly like before.

Seeming to lose all restraint, Steven pulled her into his arms and murmured something low.

A long silence. A little sobbing breath. “So have I,” Zayn heard Sofia say.

He kissed her, and Sofia molded herself against him, her hands climbing into his hair. The two of them seemed overwhelmed with mutual tenderness, clumsy with it as they kissed each other’s cheeks, chins, mouths.

Not long ago, Zayn thought as he hurried up the stairs, the sight of Steven and Sofia passionately embracing would have been unthinkable.

Everything was changing so fast. The long, steady road he had plotted out for Sofia and him was turning out to have so many unexpected twists and detours that he found himself wondering if they were going to end up in entirely different places from those they’d originally planned.

 

Zayn received frequent updates on Haven’s condition from Ella and Liberty and, of course, Liam. Although Haven’s health was improving rapidly, she wouldn’t be well enough to receive visitors outside of immediate family until she was back home. Her daughter, named Rosalie, was thriving and gaining weight and was frequently brought to Haven for what was called “kangaroo time,” resting on her chest for skin-to-skin contact.

As Zayn scrolled through photos that Liam had taken and loaded onto his tablet, he paused at a striking image of Hardy cradling Rosalie tenderly in his big hands, his smiling face lowered so that one of her miniature palms rested on his nose.

“Her eyes look blue,” Zayn said, zooming in on the picture.

“When Hardy’s mom visited yesterday, she said his eyes were exactly that color when he was born.”

“When will Haven and Rosalie be able to leave the hospital?”

“One more week, they think. Hardy will be over the moon, bringing his two girls home.” Liam paused. “But I hope my sister’s not going to want to have any more children. Hardy says he couldn’t survive this again, even if Haven wants to take the chance.”

“Is there a risk of preeclampsia if she gets pregnant again?”

Liam nodded.

“Haven may be fine with just having one child,” Zayn said. “Or Hardy may change his mind. You never can predict what people will do.” Having reached the last picture, Zayn handed the tablet back to Liam.

They were at his house in the Old Sixth Ward, a charming bungalow with a slightly smaller companion house in the back. Liam had painted the interiors of both buildings a soft, creamy white and stained the trim a rich walnut. The decor was spare and masculine, with a few pieces of beautifully restored furniture. Liam had spent more time showing him the smaller house, where he worked and kept his photography equipment. To his surprise, there was even a darkroom, which he admitted he seldom used, but would never get rid of.

 

“Every now and then, I’ll shoot a roll of film because there’s still something magical about developing a print in the darkroom.”

“Magical?” Zayn repeated with a quizzical smile.

“I’ll show you sometime. There’s nothing like seeing an image appear in the developer tray. And it’s all about craft: You can’t tell if the exposure is too light or dark, you can’t see the details of burning and dodging, so you have to go with what feels right, what past experience has taught you.”

“So you prefer that to Photoshop?”

“No, Photoshop has too many advantages. But I still like the idea of having to wait to see a picture in the darkroom. Taking time, and seeing the image with a fresh perspective… it’s not as practical as digital, but it’s more romantic.”

Zayn loved Liam's passion for his work. He loved it that Liam thought of a tiny windowless room filled with trays of caustic chemicals as romantic.

 

Scrolling through files of photos on a computer monitor, Zayn found a series of shots he’d taken in Afghanistan… beautiful, stark, riveting. Some of the landscapes were otherworldly. A pair of old men sitting in front of a turquoise wall… a soldier’s silhouette against a red sky as he stood on a mountain path… a dog, seen from an eye-level perspective with a soldier’s booted feet in the foreground.

“How long were you there?” he asked.

“Only a month.”

“How did you end up going?”

“A friend from college was filming a documentary. He and his camera crew were embedded with troops at a firebase in Kandahar. But the stills photographer had to leave early. So they asked if I would step in and finish. I was sent to the same two-day training session the rest of the crew had gone through, basically how not to screw things up in a combat environment. The dogs at the front lines were incredible. Not one of them flinched at the sound of a gunshot. One day on patrol, I watched a Lab sniff out an IED that the metal detectors didn’t catch.”

“That was incredibly dangerous.”

“Yes. But she was a smart dog. She knew what she was doing.”

“I meant dangerous for you.”

“Oh.” His lips quirked. “I’m pretty good at staying out of trouble.”

Zayn tried to return the smile, but there was a stabbing sensation in his chest as he thought of him taking that kind of risk. “Would you do something like that again?” he couldn’t resist asking. “Take a job where you could be hurt or… or worse?”

 

“Any of us could be hurt, no matter where we are,” Liam said. “When your number’s up, it’s up.” His gaze held Zayn's as he added, “But I wouldn’t go into a situation like that if you didn’t want me to.”

The implication that Zayn's feelings might sway such a decision was a little unnerving. But part of him responded to it, craved that kind of influence over him. That worried him even more.

“Come on,” Liam murmured, leading him out of the small building. “Let’s go into the house.”

Exploring, Zayn went into the small bedroom. The queen-size bed was covered with simple white sheets and a white quilt. he admired the headboard, a panel made of wooden vertical slats. “Where did you get this?”

“Haven gave it to me. It was the door of an old freight elevator in her apartment building.”

Inspecting the piece more closely, Zayn saw a long-faded word stenciled in red letters on the side – danger – and he smiled. He ran his hand across the smooth surface of a turned-over sheet. “These are nice. Looks like a high thread count.”

“I don’t know the thread count.”

Zayn kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the queen-size bed. Reclining on his side, Zayn shot Liam a provocative glance. “Apparently you don’t share my appreciation for luxury linens.”

Liam lowered himself next to him. “Believe me, you’re the most luxurious thing that’s ever been on this bed.” Slowly his hand followed the curve of Zayn's slender waist and hip. “Zayn… I want to take your picture.”

His brows lifted. “When?”

“Now.”

Zayn looked down at his huge maroon top and jeans. “In this outfit?”

Idly, Liam traced a pattern on his thigh. “Actually… I was thinking you could take it off.”

Zayn's eyes turned huge. “Oh, my God. Are you seriously asking me to pose for naked pictures?”

“You can cover yourself with a sheet.”

“No.”

From the way Liam looked at him, Zayn could tell he was calculating how to get what he wanted.

“What is the point?” Zayn asked anxiously.

“My two favorite things in the world are you, and photography. I want to enjoy both at the same time.”

“And then what will happen to these pictures?”

“They’re just for me. I won’t show them to anyone. Later I’ll delete every single one if that’s what you want.”

“Have you done this before?” Zayn asked, suspicious. “Is it some ritual you have with your boyfriends? or you know girlfriends?”

 

Liam shook his head. “You’re the first.” He paused. “No, you’re the second. Once I was hired to shoot a car ad with a model wearing only silver paint. I went out with her a couple of times after that. She was never actually a girlfriend.”

“Why did you break up?”

“After the silver paint came off, she wasn’t all that interesting.”

Zayn couldn’t hold back a reluctant laugh.

“Let me take your picture,” Liam coaxed. “Trust me.”

Zayn gave him a furiously pleading glance. “Why am I even considering this?”

 

His eyes flashed with satisfaction. “That means yes.” He left the bed.

“It means I’m going to kill you if you betray me,” Zayn called after him. Hearing himself, Zayn rolled his eyes. “I’m talking like a telenovela character.” he undressed quickly and climbed into bed, shivering at the coolness of the sheets.

In a minute, Liam returned to the room with his Nikon and a small stand-alone flash. He opened the shades, leaving the windows covered with sheers that softened the brilliant afternoon light. As he pulled away the top cover on the bed, Zayn jerked the sheet up high under his chin.

Liam looked at me in a funny way-but different from ever before, assessing highlights, shadows, visual geometry.

“I’m not comfortable being naked,” Zayn told him.

“The problem is that you’re not naked often enough. You need to go without clothes about ninety-five percent of the time, and then you’ll get used to it.”

“You’d like that,” he muttered.

Liam grinned and leaned over to kiss the exposed skin of Zayn's shoulder. “You’re so pretty without your clothes,” he murmured, working his way toward his neck. “Every time I see you in one of those big loose shirts, I think about all those sexy body underneath, and it makes me as hot as hell.”

Zayn slid him a perturbed glance. “You don’t like the way I dress?”

 

He paused in his kissing just long enough to say, “You’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”

The puzzling thing was, Zayn knew he actually meant it. He could tell it was the truth, had been the truth for him since the beginning. His figure flaws weren’t flaws to Liam – he had always regarded his body with a mixture of appreciation and lust that was pretty damned flattering.

Zayn thought it was possible that he’d been testing him without being aware of it, trying to find out if the big hoodies and baggy pants would make any difference to him. Clearly they hadn’t. Liam thought Zayn was beautiful. Why should he think less of himself than he did? What point was there in letting those beautiful clothes hang in his closet unworn?

“I have some really stylish new outfits that Steven helped me pick out,” Zayn said. “I just haven’t found the right time to start wearing them.”

“You don’t have to change anything for me.”

Perversely, that made him wish he’d worn something new and pretty today, something that measured up to the way Liam saw him.

At Liam’s direction, Zayn lay on his side, awkwardly propping his head on his hand.

Lowering to his haunches, Liam positioned the camera. The shutter clicked and the nightstand unit flashed, covering him with fill light to balance the brilliance from the window behind him. “You’ve got no reason to be shy,” he said. “Every inch of you is luscious.” He paused to adjust the stand-alone flash, tested it again, and focused on Zayn. His voice was soft and encouraging. “Can you show me your leg?”

Zayn hesitated.

“One leg,” he coaxed.

Cautiously, Zayn slid out his top leg and hooked it over the top of the sheet.

Liam’s gaze traveled along his exposed limb, and he shook his head as if presented with more temptation than a man could stand. Setting aside the camera, Liam bent to kiss Zayn's knee.

 

Zayn reached out to stroke his dark hair. “You’re about to drop your camera.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will if it smashes on the floor.”

His hand began to insinuate itself beneath the sheet. “Maybe before I start taking pictures, we should —”

“No,” Zayn said. “Stay on task.”

He withdrew his hand. “After?” he asked hopefully.

Zayn couldn’t restrain a grin. “We’ll see.”

His smile was captured with an immediate click of the shutter. Liam proceeded to shoot pictures from different angles, adjusting the focus ring with expert precision.

“Why do you have it on manual?” Zayn asked, tucking the sheet more securely beneath his arms.

“In this lighting, I can find the right focusing point faster than auto mode can.”

It was sexy, watching his hands on the camera, the skillful way he held and manipulated it. Tongue sticking out as he adjusted his cap, holding the weight of the camera,focusing. With the action his bulkier arm musles made Zayn lick his lips. The plain black shirt he was wearing did no any good either.There was a particular pleasure in watching a man do something he was that good at.Well his man, if could tell that. Liam's expression was absorbed and intent as he took a series of shots with Zayn lying on his stomach, his hips covered with the sheet, the length of his back exposed. He rested his head in the crook of his folded arms and gave him a sideways glance. The shutter clicked several times.

“Damn, you’re photogenic,” he murmured, approaching the bed. “Your skin catches the light like a pearl.” As he continued to take shots from various angles, praising and flirting, fondling whenever he got the chance, Zayn found himself beginning to have a good time.

“I’m beginning to think you’re just using this as an excuse to feel me up,” Zayn commented.

“Side benefit,” Liam said, climbing onto the bed with him. Still holding his camera, he straddled Zayn's hips in an easy movement, his denim-clad thighs on either side of Zayn.

 

“Hey,” Zayn protested, tugging the sheet higher over his chest.

Rising on his knees, Liam angled the camera directly above Zayn and took a few shots. As close as they were, it was impossible not to notice that the button-fly crotch of his jeans was straining. Playfully, Zayn walked his fingers up to his crotch and wiggled them into the spaces between the metal buttons.

Liam fumbled to adjust the focus ring. “Zayn, don’t distract me.”

“I’m trying to help you.”Zayn unfastened the top button.

“That’s not helping. In fact” – he let out an unsteady breath as Zayn began on the second button – “that’s the opposite of helping.” Liam pried his hand from the placket. “Be a good boy and let me take a few more shots. I like this pose.” After pressing a kiss into his palm, Liam positioned Zayn's arm up around his head in an abandoned posture. His fingers adjusted his elbow, softening the angle. With every alteration of Liam's weight, Zayn felt the enticing pressure of him against his groin.

 

Picking up his camera, Liam rose to his knees again. Zayn looked into the lens while Liam looked at him, and he thought of the last time they’d had sex, how he’d stood at the side of the bed and pulled his legs up to Liam's shoulders, how he’d teased and entered him slowly.

As Zayn lay there, warmed by the erotic memory, he felt his dick thickens with a deep, unfamiliar sense of ease, of languorous openness in his now slightly wet hole. Zayn inhibitions had dissolved, and for once he wasn’t trying to hide anything. It was so completely the opposite of what he’d expected that his lips parted with a faint, wondering smile.

The shutter clicked a few more times. “That’s it,” Liam said softly, the camera lowering.

“What do you mean?”

“I got the shot I wanted.”

Zayn blinked. “How can you tell?”

“Sometimes I can feel it even before I see it. Everything lines up. The second I push the shutter, I know I’ve found the sweet spot.”

As he stretched to set the camera on the nightstand, Zayn went for the buttons of his fly again, and he heard Liam's quiet laugh. He stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. Intent on Zayn's task, he worked at the fastenings, his slightly longer hair pooling and sliding over his bare stomach. Zayn licked at the line of crinkled hair leading into Liam's jeans, his tongue sliding over roughness and silk. He made a fervent sound, his hands coming to Zayn's head, a slight tremor in his fingers. Another button, another, and then he pulled at the waist of Liam's boxers.

 

Liam moved to help him. Before he could shove his jeans all the way off, Zayn was on him, grasping the thick shaft with both hands. It was scorching hot,driping white with the thin skin moving easily over hard flesh. Zayn put his mouth on him, and he went still, his jeans bunched around his knees, his lungs working in powerful bursts. Zayn painted him with his tongue, taking in the salt and satin and a rampaging pulse,roalling his balls softly with both hands, his pleasure so intense that Zayn could feel its echoes in his own body. When he heard his muffled pleading groan,"Oh baby" Zayn lifted his head inch by inch, sucking wetly all the way. Liam's entire body was rigid, his face flushed.

Zayn crawled over him and Liam tangled one of his hands in his hair, forcing his head down to his groin. As he kicked off his jeans, straddled him and reached down to guide him in place. With a hoarse murmur, he moved to help Zayn, his hand closing over Zayn's.

Zayn began to ride fast and hard, pumping in reckless abandon, whimpering a chant of "oh shit!". Wanting to make it last, Liam reached for his hips, forcing Zayn to ease the pace. Liam's hands played over Zayn gently, caressing, coaxing him to lean forward. Lifting his head, he caught Zayn's nipple and pulled it deep and started to suck it. Zayn writhed with the heat of Liam inside him, his body filled and brimming with sensation. Liam pulled him down farther, and they tried to find ways to pull each other even closer, using arms, legs, hands, mouths, breathing the same air, matching kisses and caresses and heartbeats. That's when Liam whispered hotly against his ear "Cum for me baby" and with a gasp Zayn shot few long sprouts along Liam's abdomn. Zayn felt Liam released ater following. He felt come dripping down his hole. He felt so sexy and so much in love. 

Much later, Liam showed him the photo after he’d loaded it onto his laptop. A bright wash of light had imparted a pearly glow to Zayn's skin and turned his hair jet black. The eyes were heavy-lidded, the lips full and slightly parted. The man in the photo was seductive, inviting, radiant.

Zayn.

As he stared at the image in wonder, Liam wrapped his arms around him from behind and whispered in his ear, “Every time I look at you… this is what I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter. This was much needed Ziam close up for me as it is to you guys. I hope enjoyed. :)  
> And thank you so much for the kudos and lovely comments. They mean the absolute world to me. *kisses* Please help me reach 250 so if you like it hit the kudos button and comment button and write something anything you want because that really encourage me to keep update!


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